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Sorgol's Columbian Library. Issued montbly. Hv subsoriiition, S3.00 per year. \'ol. I, No, 6, 
January. i.H^o. I-bitered at Cdiicat^o postoffice as second class matter. 








PASSION 


BY 


y 

G VERE TYLER 



CHICAGO 

CHARLES H SERGEL & CO 








'">0 .--<7 




(x"\ 


•V 


Copyright, 1891, by Charles H. Sergel & Co. 


I 



> 



PASSION 


CHAPTER I 

“For I am sick of love.” 

Nanette, I believe I will sing in a choir.” 
Nanette was seated in a low chair, leisurely 
counting and recounting the diamonds and tur- 
quoises that alternated in her tiny bracelet. She 
raised her waxen lids languidly. 

“I would, dear, you have tried everything else. 
It would be so charming to fall in love with the 
tenor, and then find out that he was a bartender. 
It would divert you so.” 

^^l am in earnest, Nanette.” 

** You are always in earnest, Celeste; it is very 
unfortunate. ” Celeste leaned back in her chair, 
clasped her hands behind her head, and closed 

7 


8 


PASSION 


her eyes. She suggested restful devotional 
thoughts, and was beautiful and vague, like a 
cloud taking shape and luminosity in the even- 
ing hours. Her eyes were the color of strong 
coffee held in amber, and ever in their depth 
was melancholy inquiry. Her lashes were tipped 
with gold. On her complexion was a yellow 
radiance as though eternal. 

Sunrise shone upon her. It scorched her hair, 
and in revenge the silken meshes held the beams 
to make a light crown for her brow. Her hands 
were strong and white and restless. She used 
them constantly while talking, and each gesture 
expressed an emotion. The gown she wore was 
of pale grey. It clung to her willowy form, hid- 
ing yet revealing it. About her waist was a yel- 
low girdle, with tassels of silk, and round her 
throat and wrists were opal stones caught with 
topaz. 

After some moments she opened her eyes, un- 
clasped her hands, and leaned forward with her 
chin extended. 

** I think it would be a joy divine,'^ she spoke, 
following her own thoughts, ^‘to feel one’s 
voice rise higher and higher in praise, until it 
seemed to penetrate the very gates of heaven, 
and arrest the attention of the angels. One’s 
body on earth, all that one’s soul could give in 
heaven. I know I could sing as I have never 


PASSION 


9 


sung, I believe I could make people fall down on 
their knees and sob and pray.” 

She was speaking excitedly, but suddenly 
dropped her voice and sighed. 

After all,” she continued, I care for so little 
besides my music.” Nanette shrugged her 
shoulders. 

I hardly think the scenes you suggest would 
be of any advantage to the church; on the other 
hand, rather disturbing, my darling, and then 
you would grow tired of the work.” 

<< I would not, Nanette,” the color mounting 
to her brow for a second, ^^you do not under- 
stand; you do not know me — no one does. I 
would like the work — at least, I think I would. 
The lives of women sicken me with their unde- 
fined conception of existence, and I am ever 
wondering that they seem so content to be drift- 
ing aimlessly, thoughtlessly, satisfied with the 
froth of life, which is but the effete discarded 
matter of the limpid pool wherein the pearls are 
contained. Yet I believe I wonder more at the 
few who plunge in with a purpose and strive to 
develop it unto an end. Ah! Nanette,” she 
cried, raising her voice as her earnestness in- 
creased, the people to envy in this world are 
the people who dare, and having dared, strive. 
Above all things, a purpose! I envy Sadie Hall, 
the former waiter girl of the caf6, who gave up 


lo 


PASSION 


v/aiting and opened a little place for herself, and 
I go there and drink her coffee, and order great 
plates of bon-bons, because she was so brave, 
poor little thing, and always had such a startled 
look in her face, as if she feared she would fail. 
Of course there are eyes even in her little world, 
jealously watching. There are always people 
about every one, whose criticism you shrink 
from in any undertaking, and whose pictured 
smiles over your struggles are agony to you.*’ 

<<You will not be worried with these thoughts, 
when you have supplied Hugh’s place,” Nanette 
remarked. << These moments of unconscious se- 
lection of a hero, are very hard on you, I grant, 
but they always turn out brilliantly.” 

<<Oh! try to sympathize with me, Nanette, I 
am sick of love and tired of men. Why should 
there be such fierce struggling within me for ex- 
pression if there be really nothing to express?” 

‘‘You are very imaginative, my beautiful sis- 
ter, and may I say it? vain! You desire recog- 
nition.” 

“ Perhaps you are right,” Celeste answered, 
drearily, “ and maybe, after all, only in my ele- 
ment laughing and singing, or drinking wine 
possibly. I confess I do not know whether vanity 
or ambition controls me, or even the exact dif- 
ference in the meaning of the words.” 

The two women changed their positions and 


PASSION 


II 


expressions. It was their reception day, and 
the first carriage had rolled up to the door. Nan- 
ette was quick and agile in her movements. 
Celeste fell into positions. Her mind and soul 
were filled with music. She was dreamy like her 
thoughts. The rooms were luxurious, opening 
three deep, the first two in modern style, with 
tasselated floors, and rugs and draperies in faded 
tints. The third was an extended hall, with pil- 
lars of soft grey marble. It was entirely without 
furniture except the grand piano, a few chairs 
and lounges, in scarlet plush, and a harp that 
rested against a statue of St. Cecelia. 

The piano was situated directly in front of a 
concave wall that faced the other rooms; on 
either side were cathedral windows' in strange 
crepuscule designs. In the center of one, as 
though through rifted clouds, the face of Mozart 
in its serene beauty, shown forth. In the other, 
Wagner was enveloped in smoke with his arms 
out-stretched to the flash of a cannon. 

To-day the lamps were shaded with rose cov- 
erings. Bowls and bunches of La France roses, 
mixed with pale green foliage, filled every vacant 
space. 

Celeste picked up one loose bunch by her side, 
tied with mauve streamers like her gown, as the 
door opened. 


CHAPTER II 


"He standeth behind our wall.” 

In a few moments the rooms commenced to 
fill. 

After some pleasant greetings, and discon- 
nected conversation, Nanette went over to the 
small table in the corner, and began to pour the 
chocolate. The steam from each tiny cup played 
about her in pretty snake-like curves, and van- 
ished above her head. The odor was delicious, 
coming through the roses. 

The servants entered phantom-like, and hand- 
ed the wine, moving gracefully in and out among 
the guests, like dark shadows bearing liquid 
crystal. 

In the music hall an Italian boy was playing 
soft melodies, with variations, on a harp. 

^^What do you think?’^ Nanette cried, raising 
her voice, while she passed a tulip cup to a lady in 


PASSION 


13 


violet velvet, Celeste is going to sing in a choir!’" 

She threw back her head, and broke into a 
childish laugh. Celeste frowned. Nanette car- 
ried her joking too far. She was in earnest about 
this, and did not wish it discussed. 

<< Well, for my part I think it is just what she 
ought to do!” one beauty whispered, who was 
herself thinking of going on the stage. I never 
hear anyone sing like her, and all these preju- 
dices about publicity, I am thankful to say, are 
dying out; and, really, if a woman has talent, she 
ought to develop it, and give the world the 
benefit.” 

<<That is true,” the young man to whom she 
had addressed herself replied; one-third of the 
genius of the world dies of laziness, another for 
the sake of conventionality, and the third that 
lives, has to be divided among so many, that 
most of the time one has to put up with trash or 
nothing. It is a great bore.” 

** Sing in a choir!” bawled out old Colonel Ben- 
son, laughing until he put his hands to his side, 
sing in a choir! well that is good. Why they 
will be asking five dollars admission fee to go to 
church, and the sidewalks will be so thronged 
that there will have to be an extra police force 
engaged to keep order. All the old sinners in 
town will turn out, even I will go — my dear mad- 
ame — even I will go.” 


PASSION 


M 

That at any rate will be a good thing/^ some 
one said. 

suggested/’ said Nanette, laughing again, 
‘^that she should have two yellow-haired chil- 
dren in white robes, with golden wings, elevated 
on each side of her, to turn the music, and should 
wear a grey cloth gown minus drapery, with a 
diamond cross burning on her bosom!” 

Everyone laughed at this. 

Nanette,” Celeste said, quietly, you are not 
kind.” 

<‘She will scold me dreadfully,” Nanette 
whispered, pretending to look frightened.] 

Well, well, since you are in earnest, my dear 
lady,” the old colonel put in, “I know the very 
man for you. The typical story-book organist 
with bushy hair, and soiled linen, who lives in an 
attic, eats plain fare, and hates women. They 
say, however, the very spirits of the immortals 
are embedded in him, that he possesses the soul 
of Beethoven, the heart of Mendelssohn, the fer- 
ocity of Wagner and the sweetness of Schubert; 
just fills the bill for every mood. ” 

“ Oh! tell me,” Celeste cried, leaning over to 
him, ^^is it really true? All whom I have known 
fall short of expectation. The expression of 
music invariably disappoints me, I long for some 
one who can sound the dreams within me.” 

<^For my part, most beautiful songstress,” 


PASSION 


15 


answering her at last seriously, I know nothing 
of music, but those who do, say that he is sub- 
lime. In fact I have heard him called the genius 
of this century. But I don’t believe you could 
really meet him. He is a miserable, dirty crank, 
who isolates himself. One funny thing about 
him is that he will not permit his compositions 
to be published until after his death.” 

He may be afraid,” Nanette chimed in. 

The colonel continued, smiling at her a mo- 
ment; And only a chosen few ever hear him 
play, except in church, where he declares he ar- 
ranges his service to give a note for every penny 
he receives!” 

‘‘What a strange creature! You really inter- 
est me.” 

Just here more visitors entered and the con- 
versation turned on other topics. 

The boy in the music hall was playing to his 
sweetheart in a foreign country, the warmth had * 
brought out the sweetness of the flowers, the 
lamps brightened as they burned, and a delicate 
blush was over everything. 

Twilight pressed hard against the windows. 

Mozart’s face was lost in the clouds, and only 
the flash of the cannon could be discerned on the 
other. 

The wine was passed freely. Conversation 
was general, senseless, and pitched in high keys. 


PASSION 


s6 


Celeste was not talkative, letting her guests 
entertain themselves. The atmosphere was 
close. She shut her eyes. It was getting very 
tiresome. She wished they would all go, which 
in fact they soon began to do. The raising and 
falling of the portiers, the bowing of the servants, 
the closing of carriage doors was incessant. 
Finally the rooms became quite deserted. 

The colonel’s son in bidding adieu to Celeste 
bowed low over her hand. hope my father’s 
words did not offend you,” he said. ‘‘He cannot 
resist his jokes.” 

“Why certainly not, it is only intentional un- 
kindness that wounds. They do not understand, 
that is all, ” she replied, smiling sadly. “You are 
so fair above them,” the young man murmured, 
then turning quietly left the room. 

Celeste followed him with her eyes. There 
was always such melancholy about this boy it 
made one’s heart ache. 


CHAPTER III 

"Go thy way forth.” 

The music had ceased and the dark-eyed boy 
was gone. Celeste had thrown her flowers 
aside, and was leaning against the mantel with 
one elbow resting on it, peering into the fire. 
There was utter weariness in her perfect face. 
Before her was a man whose passionate gaze dis- 
turbed her. 

^‘May I stay a while. Celeste?’^ he asked. 

little while, yes,^’ she answered without 
expression in her voice, and still gazing at the 
fire. ‘^But not for long, I go to hear ^Tristrem 
and Ysolde^ this evening, and wish to run over 
parts of the score, besides,” raising her eyes at 
last, *T am tired.” 

^^How is it that you never have any time for 
me now, Celeste, and are always tired? It is 
three weeks since I saw you alone. I suppose 
you know how often I have called.” 

^‘Yes, Nanette said she thought she would 

Passion— 3 17 


i8 


PASSION 


collect your cards, and send them oack to you; 
it would save you the trouble of getting any more 
for the present. ” 

The man flushed slightly, and his brows con- 
tracted. 

‘‘You have been indifferent to me,’’ he 
answered, “and have avoided seeing me. I did 
not think you could be cruel, or that you would 
hear me ridiculed.” 

“Nor did I,” she cried, stretching out her 
hands to him, “try to forgive me, I have 
behaved abominably to you, but, Hugh, it is not 
my fault. If I could I would bring back those 
hours we knew in the fall. I believe I was 
happier even than you. I know I was supremely 
so, but I am dead to it all now.” 

There was a hopeless wail in her voice as she 
continued. “I command my heart to respond 
to yours, but its beats never change. I tell my 
cheeks to burn as they used to, when I hear that 
you are here, but they remain cool and white. I 
tell my limbs to carry me to you swiftly, but they 
seem heavy and tired — Ah! Hugh, why should 
we not face the truth bravely? My love is dead 
— I do not know why or how, but that it is! It is 
only the corpse of it that I can offer you, if you 
want that, dear” with a dreary smile, “take it. 
Here are my hands, here are my lips, my arms 
to put about your neck, but they are lifeless!” 


PASSION 


19 


She leaned on the mantel, and hid her face. 
The loose sleeve fell back and revealed one per- 
fect arm, with its tea-rose texture to the shoulder, 
the opal stones, with their topaz clasp, glittered 
on the back of her neck, the golden hair gleamed 
above them, in a tangled knot, and recalled to 
him the subtle perfume it contained. 

He remembered how once in answer to his 
prayer, she had taken it down and wrapped their 
faces in it, while he kissed her. 

The perfect curves of her willowy form clearly 
defined in its colorless drapery, appealed to him. 
He knew there was honor in her, that would 
make her attempt, at any rate, to keep her 
word, and the temptation was strong to take her 
in his arms and revel in the ecstacy that even her 
passionless frame contained, but he also knew, 
that in her present mood his caresses would 
writhe her like a grater passed over her flesh, 
that his kisses would make the nerves of her 
mouth contract and quiver in agony. 

For a few moments there was silence between 
them. A log in the grate burnt in two and 
brightened into a blaze. 

She raised her head Slowly, and looked into 
his eyes. 

will not take you thus. Celeste,’^ he said, 
*‘It would be like stealing jewels from the dead, 
simply because they did not resist. But I will 


20 


PASSION 


kiss you once, even as we kiss the dead, and leave 
you, and never again will I return, until your 
spirit awakes and you shall recall me/’ 

He took her in his arms, and pushing the hair 
back from her forehead looked long and linger- 
ingly in her face. 

The waxen skin colored under his gaze, she 
tried to speak, but he pressed his lips suddenly 
to hers, and left her. 

When he was gone, she wiped his tears from 
her cheeks. 


CHAPTER IV 

" I sought him, but I found him not.” 

‘‘I pursue them/^ Celeste thought, I give 
them no chance of escape — I am wild and breath- 
less in the chase. I strike straight for the heart, 
and when they are vanquished, I will not even 
let them lie at my feet. It is almost brutal!^* 
She covered her face with her hands for a mo- 
ment, then slipped down on the floor in front of 
an arm-chair, and laid her head on the cush- 
ion. ** I was not always thus, till he murdered 
my heart, and left me this soulless thing — a slave 
to my senses. Constant to nothing.^* She was 
recalling her husband who brought her to the 
city when she would have preferred to go with 
him to a forest, neglected her, left her to her 
own devices, laughed at her sentimentality which 
was the divinity of her heart; taught her that the 
refinement of love might be its offense, lived a 

life of reckless dissipation, and finally died sud- 
2 } 


22 


PASSION 


denly of pneumonia, contracted during a hunt- 
ing trip. 

She never recovered from the shock, and even 
now after five years, she spent many hours by 
his grave, sometimes with outstretched arms 
over the mound, her lips pressed to the cold 
damp grass, that crept into her ears and nostrils, 
and recalled the shivering chill that had gone 
through her when she had laid her lips on that 
frigid clammy face lying in the coffin. 

All the love words by which she used to call him 
would struggle in her throat, but the audible 
sounds were moans and low smothered cries. 
The cruel selfishness of his life was forgotten, 
she remembered only her love. 

She had pictured to herself day by day, week 
by week, the changes going on. 

She had seen his eyes dry up, and sink in, she 
saw the hollows in the temples, the protruding 
cheek bones, the lips receding in the horrible 
grin that was forming around the mouth. She 
witnessed the flesh shrinking, and the rib bones 
rising into a latticed curve, in the concavity of 
which she could see her own heart throbbing and 
pulsating, alive and buried in his carcass. Some- 
times Nanette feared she would lose her mind, 
and then the girl was very tender with her. 

Many love affairs had come into her life, stir- 
ring her senses, and intoxicating for the moment, 


PASSION 


23 


but the miserable knowledge that no feeling with 
her was ever real, made her restless, seeking this 
thing and that, in which to absorb herself, and 
becoming absorbed in nothing. 

She raised her head from the cushion, and 
shivering, drew her shoulders up, and com- 
menced rubbing her hands one over the other. 
Her melancholy eyes were full of pain, and 
the brows were drawn together in acute lines of 
suffering. 

If ever a woman laughed or sang,’^ she cried 
aloud, ^‘with the madness of gravity, I am that 
woman. Oh! to feel once more as I used to! 
To stand in the night and look at the stars, with- 
out the tears rising to my eyes. To sing with a 
glad heart, and not a reckless one. To smile be- 
cause I feel peace in my soul. To kiss and not 
wake ashamed of the kiss — but oh! I cannot — I 
cannot. I try — I try with all my strength. I 
seek excitement, but everything fails, and I rec- 
ognize that I am a monstrosity — a body without 
a soul — a being in whom the heart is absent and 
the senses alive’ A miserable thing that can 
feel — yet be only a momentary slave to feeling!” 

She lifted herself upon her knees and raised 
up her arms. 

Celeste,^’ said Nanette, stealing softly in and 
kneeling down by her, *^you promised me you 
would not give way to these paroxysms of grief. 


24 


passion 


Don’t you know how depressed they leave 
you?” 

Yes.” 

<<Then why do you? It’s weakness, dear.” 

‘‘Because, Nanette,” clasping the girl, and 
sobbing against her, “ I cannot help it. You do 
not understand, you cannot understand; I am 
always, Nanette, so miserable. I know how 
wrong it is. I know the folly of remembering. 
I am convinced that incidents should be buried 
when they come to an end; that to brood over 
them is like lingering by a corpse and seeing it 
blacken. But how can one try even to begin to 
forget, and if I could, it would be so heartless, 
so false — so faithless!” 

Nanette swallowed the sobs that rose in her 
own little throat. “ If you would not be so in- 
tense, Celeste! Why must every passion be ex- 
hausted before you can be satisfied? It leaves 
you forever weeping over the ruins.” 

“I know — I know, dear. Don’t let’s talk of 
it. You must love me — love me with all your 
pure heart, darling — kiss me, Nanette!” 

She raised her tear-stained face, and Nanette 
pressed her lips to her wet lashes. 


CHAPTER V 

*‘Thou art all fair.” 

A few hours later they were seated in their box 
at the opera. Celeste in a velvet the color of 
April leaves ; the diamonds upon her sparkling 
like a sprinkle of rain in sunlight. The neglige 
appearance of the afternoon had entirely disap- 
peared. Her hair was caught back from her 
temples and held up high on her head with a 
spray of emeralds. She was leaning forward 
with her arms resting on the railing. In her 
hands a bunch of feathery fern, that drooped 
downwards. Above her head the chandelier 
bursted with light. 

Her face was pale, she was oblivious of the 
throng about her, lost in the passionate strains 
of the sweetest love duets the world has ever 
heard. 

Hugh Gordon, standing opposite with his 

lorgnette leveled upon her, was thinking. 

25 


26 


PASSION 


^‘Is it all body with her — no soul? Do those 
eyes, so brilliant, shed no rays from witljin? Is 
it only a dazzling reflection? Would God have 
made her so perfect, and given her no heart?” 
Then thoughts of how tender she had been, how 
passionately sweet only a short time back rose to 
his mind. 

Tears filled his eyes, and slowly turning he 
left the theatre. 

‘‘ I am in no mood to be here,” he thought, ‘T 
see only her, and the music is maddening.” 


CHAPTER VI 

“ His locks are bushy.” 

It was growing quite late the next evening, 
when Celeste, closing her tablet, said a little 
nervously, Nanette, I am going now to call on 
Carl Wentworth, the organist; will you go with 
me, or shall I drive you home first?’^ 

Oh! I will go with you.” Nanette laughed. 

I never desert you at a critical moment; be- 
sides, I have some curiosity.’^ 

They drove first to a drug store, had the direc- 
tory brought out, bent their heads over the book, 
and. Celeste, taking down the number, named it 
to the driver, and ordered him to get them there 
quickly. 

‘‘How do you like the location?’^ Nanette 
asked with a quizzical expression, when they had 
driven some distance. “ It is a queer part of 
the city for two flashily-dressed ladies to be ap- 
proaching at this doubtful hour. No telling what 
kind of place he lives in.’* 

87 


28 


PASSION 


‘^Oh! I shall only have him come to the car- 
riage and appoint a time when he will call upon 
me.’» 

“ Is that the idea! I thought you meant to 
drift into the harmonious world at once, and 
make him play while your voice penetrated the 
gates of heaven. Don^t think I should have 
come if I had known this was all.” Before Ce- 
leste could reply they had stopped before a small, 
dirty-looking grocery store; in one window there 
were cooked hams half sliced, batches of rolls, 
cold pies, etc. In the other, flour in cotton 
bags, stamped in blue letters, coffee, soap and 
sugar arranged in separate little squares. To 
the left was a narrow dingy door, above which, 
half-erased, was the magic number. 

‘‘Just ask Mr. Wentworth to step to the car- 
riage, Upton,” Celeste said; “ that a lady wishes 
to see him on business.” 

Upton disappeared, and returned with the an- 
swer that, “ Those who wished to see him must 
come to him.” 

“It grows exciting,” said Nanette. “But 
surely. Celeste, you will not enter that dreadful 
looking place,” laying her hand on her sister’s. 

“It seems that I shall have to,” Celeste re- 
plied, laughing. “I shall not go back now. 
Come, you must go with me.” 


PASSION 20 ^ 

They entered the narrow door that almost shut 
them into darkness. 

<< I wonder what will be the end of this!’^ 
Nanette said, lifting her skirts and following her 
sister up the steep stairway. 

^‘Pve played audience to so many queer 
things, that I am not surprised at anything you 
do, but this is so dirty.’’ 

Celeste said nothing. On reaching the top 
of the steps, they saw a door slightly open, 
through the crack of which streamed a misty ray 
of daylight. 

Celeste knocked timidly, she really did not 
know where she was going, and felt that a sum- 
mons to enter might lead to anything, disrepu- 
table or otherwise. 

The voice that answered was sweet and euph- 
onical as a minor chord. 

She pushed open the door, and they crossed 
the threshold in an awed manner full of misgiv- 
ings. 

Seated at a roughly planed table was the ob- 
ject of their visit, his back to them, his head bent 
forward; arranged about him, methodically, were 
sheets of manuscript music. 

He neither turned nor looked up for some mo- 
ments; and not daring to interrupt him, they took 
occasion to scan the room. 

The floor was bare, against the walls piled up 


30 


PASSION 


to the ceiling were walnut boxes three feet long, 
by two deep, each one had two strong silver 
handles and a combination lock; they afterwards 
learned that they held music, and were arranged, 
in case of fire, to be thrown with safety from the 
window. 

Ten or twelve cabinets of various sizes and 
descriptions, a rough-looking lounge covered 
with loose skins, and several plain unpainted 
chairs completed the furniture, except that in 
one corner stood a wooden box turned up on the 
end, supporting a rusty tin basin and a half-used 
bar of soap. On the back of a bottomless chair 
was a coarse brown towel crinkled and soiled. 

Articles of clothing, including a leather jacket, 
hung on the door. 

The two women were observing these strange 
surroundings and at the same time watching the 
man at the table, whose face they could not see; 
when, with a sudden vigorous movement he 
sprang from his seat, threw back his head with 
an air of masterly patronage, and confronted 
them. 

The next moment he placed his left hand 
on his breast and bowed so low that the long 
curls which covered his head like a bushy mane 
fell over his forehead. 

When he raised his eyes it was to let his gaze 
fall on Celeste, instinctively recognizing that it 


PASSION 


31 


was she who sought him. Such a light simuh 
taneously flashed from them, that she involuu' 
tarily closed her own. 

Never had she beheld an object so odd. In 
height not over five feet six inches, but with a 
capacious chest and shoulders that would have 
befitted a man of six feet. He was dressed in 
a coarse suit of dingy brown, worn and soiled, 
he wore a grey flannel shirt, and no necktie, and 
his shoes, that had never been blackened, were 
heavy with protruding soles, a quarter of an inch 
thick. 

On the little finger of the left hand sparkled a 
large solitaire diamond, set in cross bones of 
ebony. 

The light from the setting sun shown full in 
the window, producing a yellow glare at his back. 
Beyond through the leafless trees the faint red 
of the sky was discernible. 

He seemed more beast than man, so clearly 
revealed in these strong colors, with his shock 
of hair, like the mane of a lion, and his brown 
tintless clothing. He had heavy logy jaws, and 
large ears, his eyes were black, somewhat closely 
approximated, and possessed a restless glitter, 
indicative of shrewdness, the nose was delicate 
and sensitive, the mouth wide, lips thin but se- 
quacious. 

Hideous to some, beautiful to others. Celeste 


32 


PASSION 


felt the beauty; Nanette stood partially stupe- 
fied, looking at the two, wondering whether her 
sister would turn and go, or stay and carry out 
her ridiculous scheme. 

“I came,” said Celeste, timidly, *‘to ask you 
about singing in your choir.” 

<< I am sorry, madame, if that is your mission. 
I have had many like you before, but never 
found them of any service to me. I do not think 
you can sing, I am sure you would not perform 
the work I should require of you. ” 

Nanette smiled and walked over to the win- 
dow. 

This was growing amusing. Celeste refused, 
and not only refused, but told she could not 
sing! 

Celeste flushed. She felt in the presence 
of this man — this strange creature — embarrassed. 
She began to believe that possibly he could re- 
quire more of her than she could fulfill. 

** I should not mind the work,” she said in her 
low sweet voice, letting her great eyes rest upon 
him, eyes that some one had said seemed always 
seeking protection; and I might not sing to 
please you — but I can sing.” 

Nanette screwed up her eyes in approbation 
of her sister’s courage, and continued to lookout 
the window. 

‘‘So they all think, madame. However, I 


PASSION 


33 


like your belief in yourself, besides it is a part 
of my duty, to give all applicants a trial. Would 
seven o’clock to-morrow evening suit you, at the 
Church of St. Andrew?” 

Celeste answered ‘‘yes,” remembering at the 
same time an engagement, but not daring, for a rea> 
son she could not explain, name another time. 

It was impossible to longer pursue the conver- 
sation. 

He stepped by her, held open the door and 
waited for her and Nanette to pass out. 

He did not escort them to the carriage, but 
they caught a glimpse of him as they turned the 
corner, standing in the doorway, with his hand 
on his breast, and his head deferentially bowed. 

Nanette burst into shrieks of laughter, as soon 
as they were out of hearing. 

Celeste joined in, but nervously. 

“Is he not beautiful ? ” she asked in a sub- 
dued voice. 

“Beautiful? That dirty, bushy headed thing? 
Why Celeste! you must be crazy. Surely you 
mean to stop this nonsense, it is not only foolish 
dear, it’s disgraceful, you couldn’t have anything 
to do with such a looking object!” 

“I surely could, only I do not think he will 
permit me.” 

Nanette shrugged her shoulders for the third 
time, and they drove the remainder of the way 
home in silence. 

|>assion— 5 


CHAPTER VII 

“A most vehement flame.” 

Punctually at seven o’clock the next evening, 
Celeste’s carriage drew up to the church. 

Wentworth, who was standing on the side- 
walk, motioned to the driver to follow him round 
to the rear entrance. 

He opened the carriage door with an impul- 
sive movement, did not help her to alight, but 
turned his back, ran nimbly up the steps and led 
the way to the edifice. 

Celeste carried a small roll of music in her 
hand. She ascended slowly, feeling nervous and 
excited. 

As he bowed to her in his quaint way, the same 
electric flash lighted his eyes that had caused her 
a feeling akin to a shock the evening before. 

Without any particular reason she wondered 
half consciously, how old he was. He might 
have been any age, she imagined, from eighteen 

34 


PASSION 


35 


to fifty. The power of many years of thought 
was in his face, yet it struck her, that it contained 
the glad innocence of a boy of ten. Nanette was 
right, he was hideous and queer, and yet it 
seemed that she was looking on beauty mysteri- 
ously heaven born. She also felt out of place, 
but in a maze of fascination. 

He relieved her of her music, and hastily 
mounted the broad stairway of the interior, which 
was lighted by a single burner. 

It was altogether pantomimic. At the top of 
the first landing he paused and with his hands on 
his breast, bowed again as she passed him. 
Celeste could not resist smiling. 

<‘What a strange being!” she thought, contin- 
uing to ascend. He opened two more doors, 
bowing each time as before, till finally they were 
in the choir loft. Here he ran about with quick 
flitting movements, turning up the gas around 
the instrument, arranging the music rack, and 
making a thousand preparations, that made her 
more excited than ever. 

She felt as if she could not sing a note; her 
hands which were pressed nervously one over the 
other, hard on the railing, were cold and tremu- 
lous, and her throat was dry and parched. 

She recoiled at the idea of his criticism. She 
remembered that she sang by no pronounced 


36 


PASSION 


method, and the knowledge of it for the first time 
troubled her. 

How gloomy everything was! could any being 
sing in the midst of such cold impassive sur^ 
roundings? 

The church in front of her was almost black, 
some of the cushions in the pews had been turned 
over and doubled up, during the cleaning in the 
afternoon, and looked like white ghosts crouched 
in the seats. She wondered how many coffins 
had passed up the aisle. Then her thoughts as 
he brushed by her, lightly touching her skirts, 
returned to him. 

If he would only say something — anything — 
and be a little natural. She had been hearing 
tales about him during the day. From one lady, 
that she had a little friend, with a divine voice, 
whom he insulted by telling her that she sang 
like a goat, and taking her off on the organ with 
the most hideous sounds, before the whole choir. 

Finally he opened the music, and sliding on 
the stool, set it up before him. 

He handed her a duplicate copy of the one he 
had selected, and played the opening bars. 

Celeste could not utter a sound, her heart 
filled her throat, and throbbed mercilessly. 

He turned to her with flashing eyes. 

‘T do not play trash any oftener than I can 


PASSION 


37 


help,’^ he said; ‘^when I strike those chords again 
you come in.’’ 

She felt herself glow angrily. For the instant 
she was tempted to leave the church without a 
word, but somehow she did not dare, and giving 
the music she held a slight impatient shake, she 
summoned all her strength and came in on time 
when he played again, at first timidly, but grad- 
ually she gained courage. Her voice seemed to 
flow into the great empty church with such ease, 
and the organ, to which she had never sung 
before was like another rich sonorous voice sup- 
porting and sustaining her own. Scarcely con- 
scious of it, she sang louder and fuller. She 
could hear the breathing of the man behind her 
distinctly growing heavier as the piece pro- , 
grossed. 

When the climax was reached, she had lost all 
fear. Her heart was wildly beating with nervous 
delight, but her voice was steady and gloriously 
registered. On the highest note there came a 
thunderous crash from the organ that contracted 
her throat and silenced her. The bliss that sep- 
arates the true musician from the rest of the 
world and makes him the possessor of more than 
artist, poet or sculptor ever dreamed of was ex- 
perienced by them. The divinest of all ecstacy 
was attained. The most rapturous of all emo- 
tions was reached. There had occurred that 


38 


PASSION 


which in its intensity hurled them into a sea of 
light, and divested them of strength. 

The blending of souls through the medium of 
sound! 

There is no joy like unto this, save the fulfill- 
ment of love. 

Music to the musician is not only the expres- 
sion of his noblest thoughts; the outpourings of 
his heart’s gentlest, tenderest, sweetest feelings, 
but also physical indulgence, stimulating exhalta- 
tion, sensuous dreaming with a climax of subli- 
mation. The fact that one can share these 
emotions with another, causes them to abandon 
the w^orld to dwell a band among themselves, 
revelling in experiences known alone to them. 
Celeste was trembling violently, and leaned 
against the organ stool for support. 

Wentworth turned quickly to her, his leathery 
face was white as the keys his fingers had left. 
His eyes glowed and his countenance was glori- 
fied, transported by the joy for which he had 
waited all his life, and that was at last upon him. 

You are of the chosen,” he said; <‘you are 
worthy to be admitted to the realms of the few! 
Will you walk with me in the circuit of the light? 
for child you are yet in the shadow of the truth. 
The glory which would blind another, you may 
stanch in the midst of revelling! you must be filled 
with fonging, ever groping to tear the veils. 


PASSION 


39 


Such trash as this!’^ striking the music with 
the back of his hand, is only an impediment 
to you.’’ 

I have always considered the piece beauti- 
ful,” Celeste said. 

It is because you do not know — and you are 
worthy to know.” 

<'Ah! but tell me,” she asked, clasping her 
hands, and looking deep in his eyes, <‘how did 
it come to you! how have you been able to — ” 

H s interrupted her. 

It came to me,” he replied, quietly, ‘‘from 
God. I did not have to be taught. I have al- 
ways known. Few can see for the greatness of 
the light; you can.” 

“ I cannot understand, ” Celeste said, vaguely, 
“ will you let me come here, join your choir, 
work and learn?” 

“You may do so certainly, but I would not 
advise you. It is mechanical, monotonous work. 
Enlargement of ideas is suppressed for the sake 
of conventional rules. You would gain nothing 
by it. Do you not know that in churches if a 
soul breaks forth in unlimited praise to God on 
high, ,that the minister sends a note, requesting 
discontinuance of such music? He alone is al- 
lowed to stir the hearts of his people. I would 
not keep you here under such pressure. Oh! 


40 


PASSION 


the choir, the choir, you do not know what it is. 
You are beyond such plodding. 

*‘But you do not understand, lam seeking 
occupation, I am tired of the emptiness of my life; 
I have been in churches, when the voice of the 
singer comforted me so, and I thought that at 
times, if I could sing when my soul seemed 
reaching out beyond its surroundings, that I 
too, might solace some one. In my world they 
would think me mad. Ah! if I had a separate 
life to turn to — something — 

Her eyes were full of longing. The pain in 
them suffused into tears, that misted the eager 
light they contained, and caused her to cease 
speaking. 

“ Poor hungering one,” Carl said, absently — 
“I pity you. It is the same old story, but 
listen! There is no power to which you can 
turn, save self. The instinct which prompts 
you to express yourself to others, and desire 
sympathy, may gratify them, but that only 
which is within can bring you comfort. Ah! 
if people would only pay tribute to the rights 
of individuality, listen to the sweet plaintive, 
pleading calls from within, walk alone instead 
of following, wander from the crowded high- 
way into the forest, and stand blessing God, 
rather than lauding men. Oh! thou chosen 
child, forsake your present life, renounce those 


PASSION 


41 


who mislead 5’^oii, look to yourself — live within 
j^ourself!’^ 

Would you have ofie become isolated?” 
am.” 

<^Are you happy?” 

A triumphant light broke over his counte- 
nance, and hisT voice rang out in the still church. 
^‘Yes, perfectly so,” he cried, ‘though once I 
was not. There were years of doubt and uncer- 
tainty, the period through which we all have 
to pass. Years when I was submissive, not ex- 
ultant — sympathetic, not self-contained, more 
generous than just; when my heart swayed me, 
and my emotions struggled — now I look to my 
mind and powder! Did you ever think what a 
great thing it is?” 

He continued excitedly, ‘‘This right of every 
being to his own devices, that each man has the 
making of his life, that his thoughts are exclu- 
sively his own, that though there be Dantes 
and Shakespeares and Miltons and a score of 
others, no being has ever had, ever can have, 
his exact thoughts; that they are a special gift 
from God to him; is not it a sublime thought, 
sufficient in itself to breath energy and per- 
severance into every one, and obliterate idleness 
from the vocabulary of every language? Ah! 
the cowards who are led by the few, who see noth- 
ing in themselves but to follow. I live alone 


42 


f>ASSION 


shaping an individual end. I am bothered with 
no one who does not interest me, or serve a pur- 
pose. I do not wear fine clothes — I go dirty, 
and they let me alone, and if they intrude I say 
rude things, and that ends it.’’ 

He chuckled to himself in a simious fashion. 

Celeste felt for an instant repulsed, still 
strangely interested. 

‘‘That is not kind,” she answered, timidly. 

“Why should I be kind? They gaining — I los- 
ing! I live within myself, I ask nothing — I am 
content. Some day I will give the labor of a life- 
time to the world. Will not that be kind?” 

“ Have you never loved anyone?” she asked 
under her breath. 

“ I know no such thing,” he burst forth with 
fierce sullenness; “animals sneak off in Paris, 
and fools beget children. I have told you, I am 
sufficient within myself.” 

i No woman had dared before to speak to him 
of love, this one should not. A vivid blush 
sprang into her face. 

“I must be going,” she said hurriedly, draw- 
ing her wraps about her; “ 1 have detained you 
too long;” then looking up, “ I have met with a 
disappointment, I am sorry I can be of no use. 

I had become so interested in the thought, and I 
had hoped some time you would play for me. ” 


PASSION 


43 


For a few moments he was silent, carefully 
rolling her music. 

<< If you will come here and work and study, 
at the end of three months I will play for you, 
not before. 

1 will pay you any price,” she said, eagerly. 

‘‘The words are unworthy of you,” he an- 
swered, gently; ‘"I mean if you will come and 
be a disciple, giving your soul to your work I 
will throw light upon darkness. I will lead you 
into worlds where others do not walk, only the 
chosen few, and even while dwelling upon this 
earth, I will lift you to the realms of heaven; will 
you come?” 

“ I shairforsake all else for this joy.” 

“ There is hard work before you.” 

“ I am impatient for it.” 

“ Each day at seven I v/ill be here, you can 
come when it suits you.” 

He opened the door, and she passed out down 
the steps to the sidewalk. The skies were 
peaceful as though the sleep of the angels de- 
pended on the quiet, the moon shone softly 
through a haze. Celeste felt strange, the world 
and all life was unreal. It was almost a surprise 
to see the carriage waiting for her. She stepped 
into it, and drove off. Peering through the win- 
dow, she saw that Wentworth had followed her 


44 


PASSION 


down, and was standing on the steps, his head 
thrown back, looking up at the heavens. 

When she reached home, the sound of voices 
greeted her as she entered the hall. There were 
several hats on the rack, and canes with silver 
handles. Nanette’s little seal skin coat was hang- 
ing on one peg. 

The amber glow cast a faint gleam on the 
black marble floor, and touched the fur rugs with 
color. Someone was senselessly picking the 
banjo inside the closed doors. Nanette was 
laughing, and singing alternately; she heard a 
wine glass fall and break. Plesitating at the 
door, as if about to enter, then passing her hand 
wearily over her brow, she ascended the broad 
steps to her room. 


CHAPTER VIII 

“ I sleep but my heart waketh.” 

Wentworth stood still waiting for the sound of 
the carriage wheels to die away, then, sticking 
his hand in his pocket with a quick monkey-like 
gesture, he drew out an old astrachan cap, 
which he put on his head and pulled down to his 
eyebrows. 

Suddenly he turned and locked the church 
door. Running down the steps he folded his arms 
over his breast, bent his head, and walked rap- 
idly up the street. 

Many blocks were traversed before he finally 
paused in front of a small plot of ground, out on 
the borders of the city. For a number of years 
it had been his dream to purchase this little piece 
of land and build upon it a house of his own con- 
struction. With this end in view, he had be- 
come miserly, hoarding every cent till now 
nearly twenty thousand dollars lay secreted in 

45 


PASSION 


one of the drawers of a little cabinet, made safe 
by a combination lock of his own invention. 

His mind, when not absorbed in music, 
turned almost exclusively to mechanical things. 
He invented locks of all descriptions, and was 
surrounded by articles of intricate machinery, 
which he delighted in taking to pieces, cleaning 
and then replacing. He declared he could make 
a watch, and did repair his own. Steam engines 
of all kinds interested him. He served an ap- 
prenticeship at organ building, and allowed no 
one to touch his except himself. He was thor- 
oughly conversant on so many topics, that in 
some remarkable manner he seemed to have ac- 
quired universal knowledge. Besides all this, he 
was cranky, high tempered and irritable, and as- 
serted that for every act of kindness he had ever 
done heaven had seen fit to send him some pun- 
ishment. Physical pain of any kind caused 
him extreme anger and resentment. The mash- 
ing of a finger or any ordinary accident would 
make him fall down in blasphemous curses, for 
which he would afterwards pray for forgiveness. 
It was also his creed that the poor should of a 
right go dirty and wear rough clothes; and he 
hurled at the luxurious such biting sarcasm that 
they were glad to keep out of his way. 

The moon had grown luminous and crystal; 
occasionally black, hawk-like fingers smeared it 


PASSION 


47 


with smoky irregular figures, but she would hide 
for a second and come out clear and undaunted, 
and shine unobstructed on the little square of 
ground now almost considered his own 

He was in the habit of going there constantly, 
and planning over and over again the house that 
pleased his fancy. Alv/ays he had it surrounded 
by flowers; they were to grow at their own sweet 
will, over the walks if they liked, and up to the 
very chimneys, but never to be plucked, believ- 
ing that they had a specific purpose from God, 
and that when pulled they were deprived of their 
rightful resurrection. It was only another of his 
peculiar fancies. 

He stepped into the center of the little plot, 
and stood gazing about him half vacantly. 

For the first time the arrangements of his 
rooms grew confused; at every door a woman’s 
great dark eyes shone upon him; from the arches 
hung necklaces of jewels; in the corners were 
marble statues of women with human eyes the 
color of gold, from which tears streamed in crys' 
tal drops; on the floors were fur cloaks and silkeil 
robes. He saw the whole but dimly through 
meshes of golden hair. 

Finally everything vanished, but two eyes fer- 
vently glowing, that seemed to burn into his very 
soul. 

He heard a voice rise higher and higher; the 


48 


PASSION 


air seemed filled with the faint perfume cf the 
jessamine flower. 

His breath came quick and hard, as it had 
done before that sublime revelation of affinity, 
his brain grew dizzy, and casting one startled 
look about him, he turned and left the place, 
walking rapidly as before with his head bowed 
on his breast. 

Reaching his home, he opened the little cab- 
inet and took out the money, and commenced to 
count it, but soon his hand ceased its work, his 
lips their muttering, and he stared at the notes 
absently. A great feeling of loneliness, the first 
he had ever fully known, came over him. His 
compact frame trembled, he leaned his arms on 
the table, and dropping his head upon them 
broke into uncontrolled passionate sobbing 

The solitary candle burnt out, the moon came 
in, glided up to him, rested for a while on his 
bowed head, and stole out leaving only darkness, 
before he threw himself as he was, on his bed of 
skins and fell asleep. 


CHAPTER IX 


' ' I would cause thee to drink of spiced wine. ” 

Celeste did not visit the church again until 
the third day; in spite of her desire to do so, she 
was prevented by some feeling of hesitation 
which she could not explain. 

Each evening when seven o’clock came the 
thought of Wentworth, perhaps patiently wait- 
ing for her in the gloom of the silent church, 
made her restless and absorbed; she pondered 
over the situation with little satisfaction to herself. 

How different her plan had ended from what 
she had expected, she was not to sing at all it 
seemed, not even to hear a melody, but simply 
to enter into a field of musical thought, and in- 
struction with this strange creature, half beast, 
half God. 

Passion— 4 


49 


50 


PASSION 


In the midst of her reveries, that dazzling 
light from his eyes would flash before her, and 
blind her even as it had done in his presence. 
She could not take her thoughts from him. 
When she recalled her song, with the throbbing 
sustaining accompaniment and sudden blissful 
termination, she quivered with delight, and yet 
at times with the silken gowns clinging to her, 
the subtle perfumes in the air, the subdued lights, 
and the cultured voices of society around her, 
the memory of him was almost repulsive. 

He was unclean and unkempt, the sleeve of his 
coat was ripped, above his low quartered, coarse 
shoes his stockings were snagged, and he seemed 
never to have combed his hair. But what hair ! 
Almost golden in color, yet in shadow so dark, 
hair so changeable that his tempers seemed 
reflected in it. She longed to run her fingers 
through the curls clinging and arranging them- 
selves about his head, but feared to experience 
the thrilling pain that even his glance had caused 
her. She stepped from her carriage, and walked 
up the church steps. The door was slightly 
ajar, revealing the dim light from the one stair 
burner. She entered and ascended to the choir 
loft. As she proceeded, the sound of the organ 
soft and wierd and passionate greeted her ear. 


PASSION 


51 


She leaned against the banister and listened, but 
in a moment all was still, and she moved on. 

Entering quietly she beheld him seated before 
the organ, his elbow resting on the key board, 
his head upon his hand, the lights encircling him. 

He sprang to meet her, then as if suddenly 
remembering, stood still and bowed in his old 
fashioned way, now quite familiar to her. 

*‘Had you begun to give me up?’^ she asked, 
smiling. 

^‘No, I believe you are faithful, three evenings 
is not long to wait.” 

*‘But how dreary! you must have been very 
lonesome.” 

had not thought of it, I am used to being 
alone. Is it warm enough for you?” 

* ‘Quite so,” she answered, throwing back her 
furs, and taking the seat he offered. 

Without further remark he put his hand in his 
pocket, drew out a roll of paper, which he un- 
folded and handed her. 

It was a perfect cryptogram, containing signs 
and letters that had for her no meaning what 
ever. 

The first was fashioned in this manner; 


52 


PA55SION 



There were many others far more intricate and 
puzzling. 

Celeste looked up at him perplexed. 

He smiled, and taking his seat by her, com- 
menced making explanations. At first she could 
not understand, and bent over his knee, on which 
the paper rested, with a look of blank inquiry; 
but after he had asked her many questions, 
prompted, corrected, and applied her answers, 
the problem opened up before her, and she saw 


PASSION 


53 


in it a simplification of ideas which had long dis- 
turbed her, she felt that indescribable glow as 
though her brain were being dusted of cobwebs, 
and the light beginning to shine. She experi- 
enced the satisfaction of acquiring knowledge. 
It was as though a mental sun gradually rose and 
gave shape, color and significance to figures, 
thoughts and impressions, before witnessed 
through clouds. 

She felt suddenly warm and radiant in this 
dawning light, and the beams seemed to radiate 
from Wentworth. 

There was a flood of intelligence in her dreamy 
face. She wanted to lay her hands on his 
shoulders, gaze down into his eyes and silently 
question his great knowledge and power of im- 
parting. 

But she could not but help notice that he was 
very careful to keep quite apart from her, and to 
draw back whenever she approached him, 
as her interest in the paper he held increased. 

When the lesson was over, she expected to 
discuss it with him, possible even that he would 
play a few chords in further explanation, but he 
said nothing, and walking over to the door 
opened it for her to pass out. 

Celeste was uncomfortable and dissatisfied 
after she left. 

She held the paper that he had given her to 


54 


PASSION 


Study in her hand, and felt worried that she 
should have it. What was this man to her, that 
she should go to him, and accept his instructions 
without pay? A perfect stranger who was not 
even sufficiently well-disposed to speak a few 
words when the lesson was ended. 

The unconventionality of the affair jarred upon 
her. It seemed impossible that she had been sit- 
ting alone in that gloomy church with that queer 
man. She really felt afraid of him now and al- 
most determined not to return again, but to send 
him a note declining to be the recipient any 
longer of favors from him. Although the absorp- 
tion of knowledge from him had been intensely 
delightful, it was entirely unlike the emotion of 
both when he played, and she had sung, and the 
agreement been made. Besides, what good 
would it do her to enter into these scientific 
studies? She never could compose. 

She already vaguely understood what he 
meant by saying that he did not care to hear 
music, but preferred to read it in his room, re- 
moved from the very sight of the instruments 
and human beings who spent their lives distort- 
ing the creation of genius. 

Not even the best, he said, ever reached the 
conception of the composer. He heard his own 
orchestra, enlarged to any size, where every 
artist was perfect, and every instrument blended. 


I^ASSiON 


He heard his own Faust, his own Tannhauser; 
his Marguerite was a vision, a dream, an ideal, 
not a fat German woman who sprang from the 
gutter. There were never any sharp tones from 
his singers, from too much wine or beer drink- 
ing. The costumes they wore were not spotted 
or soiled. Carpets were never laid on his stage 
enveloping you in dust; there was no hammer- 
ing, no delay. He had but to close his eyes, and 
the whole was before him, the ocean if he desired 
it, perfect. 

She remembered the color that tinged his face 
as he told her this and burned in his thin lips, 
and that it had paled suddenly, in his earnest- 
ness, when he tried to explain to her, that she 
must work to comprehend these things. 

He also said that sometimes, unable to sleep, 
he had risen from his bed and sought his organ, 
but it was because of the fullness within him 
that had bursted if it had not overflowed. A de- 
sire for expression, he explained, as one prays 
aloud in extremis. It was the upheaving of his 
soul, an offering to his God, and, he added 
fiercely, that had he caught any one listening he 
would have killed him. 

Bah! It was all nonsense! 

Did she care for greater enjoyment than she 
had experienced, all her life, in hearing music? 

But had he not said he would throw light upon 


56 


PASSION 


darkness, and lead her into a world where only 
the chosen could walk! 

Would she prove herself unworthy? 

Three months was not so very long, and he 
had promised that then the reward should come. 

Having so decided she went at first twice a 
week, then three times, and eventually every 
evening. 

She was not sure that she liked to go, but was 
impelled by a fascination she could not resist. 

The unique method of instruction continued 
to delight her, and she gave up her time exclu- 
sively to study; fearlessly neglected society, 
which commented upon her course mercilessly. 

Wentworth could find but little fault with the 
progress she made, but he required her to be 
alert and attentive, and grew angry when she 
forgot, or failed to understand in the slightest 
degree what he strove to teach her, expecting 
from her almost unnatural advancement. 

In his presence she was under the most violent 
excitement, when his eyes met hers she felt the 
blood surge through her heart. If he passed 
behind her back, it was as though a flame of 
fire sped by. If by any accident his hand 
touched hers, a sharp pain like an electric cur- 
rent ran through her. 

She did not feel love or its intoxication, but a 
physical affinity almost doloriferous. At times 


PASSION 


57 


the feeling of revulsion for him was momentarily 
insufferable. 

He devoted the entire time she was with him 
to her instruction. 

He did not permit her even to stand any 
nearer to him than was actually necessary. 

Once yielding to an irresistible impulse, she 
laid her hand upon his shoulder. He started 
from her with such indignation that she never 
dared to approach him agaim, yet sometimes she 
had gone so far as to think he loved her. She 
had caught him with his gaze fixed upon her, full 
of rapturous adoration, and once when she was 
leaving, as usual, without a word from him, he 
extended his hand as if to detain her, and look- 
ing up, in surprise, she saw that tears were in 
his eyes. 

She hesitated, stretching out her hand to him. 
She felt there was so much they both desired to 
say, but before she could utter a word, he 
opened the door, and ushered her through. 

It was very irritating, and she felt piqued, 
which was unfortunate, for it incited her to 
mental resolves although as yet unformed and 
unexpressed would ultimately become disastrous 
in effect. 

Why could he not let her speak a few words 
with him? Was he a saint that he should hold 
himself so aloof, and become angered at her 


58 


PASSION 


mere touch. She who looked men to her feet at 
will! 

He might say that he was happy, sufficient 
unto himself, but he was not. There was inex- 
pressible sadness about him. But was there 
when she met him? 

Her thoughts angered her. She would teach 
him to appreciate her and her visits to him, 
evening after evening at the expense of every 
engagement, so for five days she remained away, 
but when she saw him, her heart smote her, and 
she. reproached herself. 

He was seated as of old on the organ stool, 
with the circle of lights about his head, but his 
back was to the instrument, and his eyes were 
fixed on the door with a piercing stare. Around 
them were black circles. 

His face looked almost emaciated in its pallor 
and sufferings. There were lines of pain about 
the mouth that might have resulted from months 
of agony. 

He sprang to his feet as she entered, in the 
same impulsive way, but the next moment placed 
his hand over his eyes, and would have fallen, 
if she had not put forth her arm and supported him. 

“You are ill,’^ she cried, “you should not have 
come.’’ 

“I am only faint,” he murmured, “I have not 
eaten in days.” 


PASSION 


5^ 


* What has been the matter?^^ Celeste asked, 
anxiously scanning his face, and leading him to 
a seat. 

<‘I have been waiting.’* 

‘‘Suppose I had never come?” 

“Then I should have waited, till I knew no 
waiting, and you would have known. ” 

“I am sorry,” she said to him softly, “I have 
no excuse.” 

“There is no need of one. If I have failed to 
interest you, it is my own fault, but I have tried. 
You will grant that I have labored earnestly.” 

“You have been more than faithful.” 

“And yet have failed.” 

“You have succeeded,” she exclaimed with 
fervor. “You have made meaningless black 
spots, dancing fairies before my eyes. You have 
invested signs with souls, and spaces with life. 
You have poured your knowledge into my brain, 
and flooded it with intelligence. The spirit of 
your genius has entered into me, and I have 
been in blissful delight, you giving — I receiving 
all that I could. But I remained away because 
you angered me! why are you so cold? Why do 
you never permit me to speak with you? We 
go through the lessons as though we were two 
machines, and I should so love to stay and hear 
you talk of yourself, your strange life. Then, 


6o 


PASSION 


too, I am impatient for the music, three months 
is so long, with only one passed!’* 

He stared at her speechless. 

‘ ‘Can you not speak?” She asked impatiently, 
clasping her hands suddenly and leaning forward, 
her eyes in his. 

“You are not ready for the music such as I 
promised,” he answered quietly, in his mellow 
toned voice, “for the rest I never dared. You 
listen to me, while I speak of myself? It could 
not possibly be.** 

“But you interest me strangely,** she explained, 
“far beyond any other. I would know why you 
live your isolated life; why you do not give your 
genius to the world, and make it bow before you. ** 

“Always the world,*’ he said, smiling sadly, “I 
care not for it, I give only to God. Until now I 
have been unafflicted, serene, satisfied, rising and 
rejoicing with the sun, closing my eyes in con- 
tentment when it ceased to shine, and my work 
was done. But now my peace is gone, the 
thoughts which have filled my mind seem fruit- 
less, my life appears useless, even my music is 
forgotten, I do liot live, but dream. Sometimes, ’ * 
he added, rising from his seat, “I despise the 
music; what am I without it? A miserable mis- 
shapen beast from whom you would draw your 
skirts aside in passing! Do you think that I am 
blind, that I cannot see myself?” 


PASSION 


6i 


^*You wrong yourself,’’ she said, in her excite- 
ment forgetting the barrier existing between 
them. ^*To me you are beautiful. Ah! more, 
you are the realization of my undefined dreams, 
you are greater than I in all things. Through 
you I have learned to look up. Ah! If I could 
tell you the contempt in which I have held men, 
how I have classed them all alike — a grand army, 
equipped, pressing forward, slaying one another, 
selling themselves, fighting every obstacle, 
crawling on their hands and knees if need be, 
and all for one end — passion! But you — you are 
different — your soul is diffused through your 
entire body. I reverence you as a superior being. 
But I would have you go in the world if only for 
a brief season, to show them what you are, and 
shine with a lustre that would dazzle mankind, 
and bring to your feet the most critical and 
haughty. I would have you dress in velvet and 
laces — the ideal Mozart, living and breathing!” 

A deep flush burned in her cheeks, her dark 
yellow eyes shone like topaz before a flame. 

His imagination took fire from hers, his pale 
face glowed unnaturally and he caught his 
breath, but suddenly his countenance changed, 
and dropping into his seat he said wearily: 

<Ht could not be, only you see me thus. The 
effort would bring me pain, and you disappoint- 
ment. My playing is the expression of thought. 


r52 


PASSION 


the development of theme, and not that mechan- 
ical brilliance that would please your friends. I 
would simply be the exponent of a whim on your 
part, and you would despise me in the midst of 
your triumph over me.’* 

‘‘You are not just,” she answered. “Do I 
not forget and forsake the world to spend my 
evenings here? Besides, I could not be ungrate- 
ful.” 

“Ungrateful,” he exclaimed. “ I have done ‘ 
nothing for you, while your voice has summoned 
me to life. To you alone have my manners, my 
appearance been of sufficient importance for kind 
comment. I have laughed at the world that 
jeered at me, because I felt superior; but now 
before the light of your eyes, I am ashamed. I 
envy the wooden giants and senseless idiots who 
know your ways.” 

“ It is a greater joy,” Celeste replied low, “to 
learn your own. ” 

“Ah! You cannot mean that — I must not, 
dare not believe. But could I have such words 
as you have spoken to-night, for life^ words that 
only an angel or ethereal guardiai?. could have 
dreamed, ambition would come, acJ lofty strug- 
gles for trophies that no other could earn or win, 
only that you should be reflected in them, and 
should know that they were gotten for your sake, 
and you would be able to distinguish my striv- 


PASSIO*'- 


63 


ing and my homage from the efforts and offerings 
of others. For unless an offering to you could 
be rare, exclusive, and as compared with any- 
thing for another superior, and outranking, then 
I would not wish to offer. Oh! God, I am noth- 
ing, have nothing, only this music that already 
fills me with jealous dread, lest it should envel- 
ope me until I am lost sight of, and I have 
learned that I have a heart, with a heart’s an- 
guish.” 

He spoke excitedly, his voice was hollow and 
hopeless, his lips were quivering, he looked ill 
beyond expression. 

'^Cornel” she said, ^‘you must not excite 
yourself, you are ill and exhausted, I will take 
you to my home, and give you some refreshment. 

How could you neglect yourself so?” 

Your words are my celestial lamps,” he said, 
speaking as if in a dream. 

'^Will you not go with me? Ah! why have 
you not eaten?” 

I could not,” he said, still dreamily. 

'think I never should if you had not come. Oh! 
that waiting — waiting — that fear of being for- 
saken. My God, how did I bear it! But — ” 
He broke off suddenly. I cannot go to your 
house, I would meet others, I should not know 
what to do, I would embarrass you; I am not fit, 
do not ask me.” 


64 


PASSION 


But you will go to please me?** 

He looked at her again, in amazement. 

** It seems impossible that you should wish 
it,** he replied, ‘*but it shall be as you say, now, 
and always. Only I beg that you will not thrust 
me before the others.** 

** I will not.** 



CHAPTER X. 

"To the banqueting house.” 

The night was warm, as though the spirit of 
summer was walking the earth. Above them 
the stars shone in groups between rifted blue 
black clouds. 

The atmosphere was soft and fuliginous, and 
the street lamps were encircled with little firey 
spears. 

Celeste ordered the driver to lower the top of 
the carriage. 

<Ht is like April,” she said, as they took their 
seats, “I can almost fancy I smell hyacinths in 
the air.” 

Her manner to Wentworth was that of a 
gentle mother. 

She arranged the robes about his knees, and 
told him to lean his head back against the seat. 

He obeyed her silently, and exhausted, closed 

his eyes. 

Passion— 5 


65 


66 


PASSION 


She sat with her hands clasped gazing intently 
on the white face beside her, suddenly grown so 
tender and sensitive. 

She knew that she had woven the spell about 
him ; that if she were kind she would forsake 
him now before he abandoned himself to his 
k)ve. 

No such intentions entered her mind, however. 
!rhe thrilling ecstacy of his presence was painfully 
blissful; the development of his passion too 
exciting, and she was waiting patiently be- 
sides, for the time when those strong white 
hands, now so still and apparently powerless, 
would bring forth sounds that would draw them 
together into a world where souls communewith- 
out the medium of touch. 

She took the old cap from his head and 
dropped it in his lap, and laid her hand on his 
brow, smoothing back the tangled curls. 

He opened his eyes slowly for a moment only, 
then closed them again, a tremor passing over 
him. 

The streets were very quiet, the rumble of the 
wheels was lulling, the faint odor of jessamine 
that clung to the soft robes about him, and 
cushions against which he leaned intoxicated 
him. 

He felt weak and faint, but happiness, 
unknown before, permeated him. He saw vis- 


PASSION 


67 


ions beneath his closed lids, and did not dare 
speak lest his dream should be dispelled. 

When they reached the house, the stopping 
of the carriage startled him. He raised his 
head suddenly, and unconsciously the words 
burst from him. 

‘‘I worship you!” 

Celeste did not answer, but took him by the 
hand and lead him, as though he was blind, up 
the steps into the softly lighted halls, through the 
music hall into the dining room beyond. 

The fire had burnt low, the door was open 
leading into the conservatory, the sweet moist 
odor stole in. 

Nanette was seated alone reading. 

*‘We have come for some supper, little 
sister,” Celeste said gaily, leading Wentworth 
in, *<what can you find for us?” 

Carl stood awkardly enough just inside the 
portiers, the dirty cap in his hand. 

He looked even more out of place than ever 
in these beautiful subdued surroundings, short 
and stumpy, in his coarse unblacked shoes. 
Nanette was preparing to laugh, but the sight 
of his pale face alarmed her. 

^Ht has been short work,” she thought, and 
her face softened. She felt pity for him, whom 
she had held in contempt. Could this pale suf- 
fering being, this saddened man, be the exultant 


68 


PASSION 


imperious beast she saw, content in his cage, 
some weeks ago? It seemed impossible. The 
beauty of his countenance was perceptible to 
her now, as it had not been then. 

*‘You are ill,” she said in her gentle voice, 
‘*come, sit down.” It was not his custom to 
shake hands with women, and he hesitated look- 
ing doubtfully at hers. 

*‘Oh! You must shake hands if we are to be 
friends,” she said. He took the tiny hand, 
bowed low over it, murmuring something about 
the honor she conferred. 

‘^How old fashioned he is,” she thought, ‘‘he 
must fancy himself one of the old masters, and 
indeed he is most like Beethoven, I will call him 
so some day.” 

She led him to a sofa, he hesitated again, “I 
cannot sit there,” he stammered. “I am not fit. 
She would have me come — it is not best.” 

Celeste came forward with a glass of wine. 
“Oh! make him sit down, Nanette, he has not 
eaten in days, he is starving, is it not a shame?” 

“To you, yes. Celeste,” the girl muttered un- 
der her breath. 

She felt really angered with her sister; with so 
much in her life for diversion, why could she not 
spare this poor, curious being? But she knew 
that she would not. 

The light of interest gleamed in Celeste’s beau- 


PASSION 


69 


tiful eyes, and she knew till it died out, she 
doubted not but that it would, that this creature 
with his illumined face, ill-favored, forbidding 
as he was, would be made a hero, a god. After 
that — well, what mattered the future to Celeste, 
or the consequences of the present — to-morrow 
would bring change, it always did. What she 
desired was forgetfulness of self, to be absorbed, 
diverted, stimulated, and that which served this 
purpose best she sacrificed. 

Suffering, that she witnessed, caused her ex- 
treme anguish, but she avoided seeing it, if pos- 
sible. She had been known to cast her wraps to 
the poor, who followed her to her door, but she 
gave orders to her servants to bring her no tales 
of woe. 

Even now, in the beginning, she pitied Went- 
worth. The intensity of his nature caused her 
positive fear of consequences. She dreamed a 
few nights before that he appeared to her robed 
as a priest with a laurel wreath upon his brow, 
and unnatural black imps a foot high dancing on 
his shoulders, playing mandolins. Throwing 
open his long, purple robe he revealed to her a 
flaming heart. Somehow the dream haunted 
her. But neither dreams nor reality could affect 
or alter her course; she was interested, it was 
sufficient. 

Carl looked with a startled expression at the wine. 


70 


PASSION 


cannot drink it/* he exclaimed, ^'stimul- 
ants make me wild; the least drop acts upon me 
like some firey poison.’* 

"But you are so weak, it is a light wine, it 
could not possibly hurt you. ’* 

"I dare not take it,’* he said, pleadingly, 
"but, if it is no trouble, I would like a cup oi 
boiling water with a lump of sugar, and after 
that I will eat something, a piece of stale bread 
if you have it, I am very faint. ** 

Nanette touched the bell, ordered the water 
and supper to be served. The tea service was 
brought. Celeste poured in the water herself, and 
when it boiled, handed it to him in a royal Dres- 
den cup. 

He sipped it noisily from the spoon, and de- 
clared it delicious. At which the two girls 
laughed, watching him eagerly. 

Meanwhile a light supper of salads and dain- 
ties was being placed upon the table. He re- 
fused everything but the bread which he ate in 
great quantities. 

He was even more awkward and ill at ease 
than ever. He tucked the napkin in his collar, 
and did many other repulsive, unsightly things. 
Every few minutes he spoke of the blessed priv- 
ilege, and his own unworthiness. 

Nanette talked away in the gayest fashion, and 
Celeste broke into rippling laughter. She was 


PASSION 


71 


delighted with this feast prepared for her 
idol, nothing that he did shocked her. She 
wanted him wild and abnormal, she had in her 
mind the taming of him, his civilization. This 
was only the first step. She was eager for the 
time when he should bow before her in his vel- 
vet breeches, with old-fashioned buckles on his 
shoes. He would love her so, that her word 
would be his law, and no matter what her fancy 
might be, she would be obeyed, and she, well 
she would love him, too! Already she could not 
keep her gaze from his lucific eyes, and her heart 
thrilled with exciting emotion. 

When the little supper was over, Nanette rose 
from the table to go. 

Carl detained her. 

have a request to make of you,’’ he said, 
‘Ht is the first time I have ever made a like 
one.” 

No doubt I shall grant it,” she answered, 
laughing, and taking her seat again. ‘‘What is 
it?” 

“Once,” he said in a low voice, leaning his 
arms on the table and looking into her face, “ it 
seems very many years ago, I loved a little child 
very dearly; when she was thirteen she died. I 
knew it was because her spirit and angel face 
were required in heaven, yet I suffered greatly. 
They enveloped her in violets, and put a wreath 


72 


PASSION 


of them on her head, and a bunch on her breast. 
She was very beautiful. I said that I could not 
play at her funeral, but when the hour came and 
the sun was setting, I could not keep from play- 
ing: and although the music has been with me 
ever since, I have never been able to recall it, 
until I heard your voice to-night. Some time 
may I play it for you? To you alone I mean.’’ 

Could not Celeste hear?” 

It would not please her, I could not play it 
in her presence.” 

Nanette laughed again. 

I shall be delighted,” she said, ‘‘but I do 
not understand you.” 

“It is very simple, to you the spiritual, the 
gentle tones, the blue lights, the after glow. To 
her the choruses of heaven and hell combined 
— the sun, moon and stars in red flames; the 
ocean set to music!” 

“Do you think to content her?” she asked in 
pity, ignoring her sister’s presense. 

She knew that Celeste held his whole future 
in her hands, that any warning was useless, but 
the words came unbidden. 

“Good night,” she added, sweetly, “I shall 
dream of the little child covered in violets.” 


CHAPTER XI 

"And his banner over me was love.” 


Celeste led Carl back to the sofa, lowered the 
lamp by which Nanette had been reading, and 
seated herself by him. 

She wore a gown of crimson velvet, turned 
back in broad points from her full perfect throat. 
About her waist was a girdle of dark red stones, 
and on her fingers and wrists garnets and di- 
amonds glittered sensuously in the dim light. 

‘‘You are a burning fire,’’ he said passion- 
ately, “ glowing and sparkling; you are the yel- 
low flamOs.” 

Celeste shuddered. 

“Do not say such things, fire is destructive. 
Do you feel better? Are you strong enough to 
talk?” 

“No soul has entered paradise to-day that 
has known such joy as mine. I have experi- 
enced an earthly sacrament from an angel’s 
hands.” 


73 


74 


PASSION 


You would not come before/^ 
was not worthy, then; I am now, but my 
strength is gone. The gates of heaven were 
open to me, I could not turn back, to a world in 
which all interest is lost.” 

‘‘Then you will come to my world,” she asked 
eagerly. “You will throw aside these hideous 
garments, and dress to please me; and you will 
come to my house and play to my friends, and 
be one of us — only so far above us?” 

“ Better that you should come to me, child, if 
you know how I stand apart and view you, 
watching the pillars of your hope crumble one by 
one; leaning upon others who give way, like rot- 
ten structures; your nature scorched and over- 
tested, harassed until your heart-strings have 
lost their tension, you would then know how my 
heart goes out to you. Come to my world, there 
only is the true life. I would lead you to that 
which is within yourself. If you could compre- 
hend the insignificance of the things that enthrall 
you, and how much more precious and enjoyable 
would be the hours of thought that would make 
you independent of them, you would not hes- 
itate. Others have loved you, and served you 
well, perhaps; I would teach you to serve your- 
self. It is the only happiness.” 

“You over-estimate me. I could not live 
apart from my surroundings, neither could I do 


PASSION 


75 


without the things you consider unnecessary; 
and if they are superfluous, why have they been 
provided i*” 

Because God is merciful, and they who can- 
not think must have something. Those who 
are not interiorly endowed, are exteriorly sup- 
plied. But would you, possessing a mind, be 
blessed only as the flowers that unfold their 
beauty, the birds that send forth song, the beasts 
that revel in fields? Do you not feel that there 
is more in life?’' 

I could not live otherwise than as I do." 

** That is because you are asleep to your own 
powers. You are not happy." 

“ God knows that I am not," Celeste answered 
earnestly. 

‘‘You should be happy," he said quietly, “ all 
life is harmony; you should be a divine chord in 
nature's orchestra. You are a divine chord, 
wrongly placed in the center of a dance tune. 
Ah! how the monotonous jingle and swing on all 
sides must hurt you." 

“You seem to know all things," Celeste said. 

“ I feel," he answered, “ that I have forgotten 
all things but yourself. I hear only your voice, 
I see only you, my mind has become unreal. I 
live in visions in which, etherealized, you float 
before me like an angel in violet clouds; but oft- 
times I am harassed, pow^erless against the strife 


76 


PASSION 


and sorrow that befall you. I see 370U in the 
swim of life tossed about, seeking and bestow- 
ing, now on the top of the waves, supported for 
an instant by one who steals from you, even 
while you trustingly cling; and the next minute 
hurled into the under-current, bereft and help- 
less, your arms outstretched in supplication, 
your very senses reeling in confusion.’^ 

‘^It is all as you say, I know too bitterly,” 
looking at him with the old hopeless longing in 
her eyes. But it is too late. I would be most 
desolate standing on the grey rock alone. 1 
cannot leave, I would feel lost. Ah! could I 
have met you when I was a young child lying in 
the dark shade under the great trees, seeking, 
trying with all my young soul to ferret out the 
truth. It is the old story,” she added, smiling 
sadly. My prince appeared, I followed.” 

It is not too late,” he cried, ignoring the last 
part of her sentence, <‘and you would not be 
lonely, you would be at work upon yourself; and 
when you were tired and your mind and body 
needed rest, I would come to you. In time I 
should learn by looking into your face, the mood 
that was upon you, and that which you longed 
for most I would be able to give you, when 
once I should lay my hands upon the keys; 
for worship teaches service, and to serve is to 
understand.” 


PASSION 


77 


There was a long pause between them, Ce- 
leste leaned her face upon her hand and gazed 
at the dying fire. 

Carl was the first to break the silence. 

I long to comfort you,” he said. 

Celeste looked into his face wistfully. You 
do not know me,” she answered. I would bring 
you pain, you would find me restless, change- 
able, hard to please.” 

You do not know my love,” he whispered. 

It is man’s love,” she said bitterly, ^‘yes I 
think I know.” 

I have told you,” Carl cried aloud, ‘‘that I 
am different from men. The difficulty of con- 
trivance to please I should count but proudly, 
for your approbation should be the most difficult 
to merit. I should only wish at times to be con- 
vinced that you approved. But mingle with 
your people, empty-headed mental paupers, walk 
headlong into hell because you choose to 
writhe there, I cannot — will not.” 

He rose from his seat, as though to shake the 
temptation from him. She stood up before him, 
taller than he, the flame velvet hanging about 
her, her face white and delicate as a snow-drop. 

“ I will not persuade you,” she said, “ if once 
you will appear before them.” 

“ I would raise you to heaven,” he cried, “you 
would drag me to hell.” 


78 


PASSION 


It is my wish — my desire. I can act explain 
it better. 

Carl hesitated. 

It would give me pain/* he said simply, like 
a child. 

** It will give me joy, will not that take away 
the pain?’* 

*^Look upon me and see if you still demand 
it.’* 

His sensitive lips quivered, the restless glit- 
ter had faded from his eyes, and they were turned 
upon her, soft and brown, full of suffering and 
prayer. 

Celeste paled a little. It was cruel to thrust 
him before the callous world for its criticism. 

‘‘ But,’* she answered, <‘you wrong yourself, 
and I still wish it.” 

** It is the limit of my adoration,** he replied 
calmly. ‘Ht shall be as you wish, but I have 
your promise for once only?*’ 

“Yes, only for once.’* 

She leaned forward and extended her hand to 
him. That white, restless hand glistening with 
its rings. The hand that had rested for a mo- 
ment on his brow, in the carriage, and revealed 
to him the magic it contained, magic that had 
poured through him, and left him weak and filled 
with visions, as though from her fingers had 
dripped some sensuous drug. 


PASSION 


79 


He looked at it eagerly. The light peculiar 
to his eyes gathered and flashed, but he did not 
take it, and she withdrew it, with feelings of 
piqued pleasure. It was so novel to her, this 
strange lover, seeking nothing of her. She was 
content to look forward to the time when he 
would be humbled and begging at her feet for 
a touch of those cool, slender fingers, which he 
was now strong enough to refuse. 

He did not know that love was a fever cooled 
only by the fire that kindled it. All this and 
more he was yet to learn. 

I will go,’^ he said, presently, I must sleep, 
I am very tired, and there is work for the mor- 
row, I have done nothing in days.^’ 

** I mean to make the honor of your playing for 
me, the occasion of a ball,’’ Celeste said, with 
affected gaiety, pulling the draperies aside for 
him to pass out. will write the description 
of your costume, and send it to you to-morrow.” 

He bowed his head, but said nothing. 

‘^Whydo you hate the thought of meeting 
people so?” she asked. 

Because there is nothing in it, I am not of 
them. You, yourself, will be disappointed. You 
shall see. ” 

She followed him to the door, and watched 
him disappear from sight. 


CHAPTER XII 

'* My soul failed when he spake.” 

It was growing colder, the wind blew in sharp, 
tempestuous gusts; the unleafed trees swayed 
slightly; the dark clouds had dispersed and 
thinned, till the sky seemed covered with black 
spangled gauze, ragged and torn. 

Celeste turned with a slight shiver, and was 
about to close the door, when a voice arrested 
her attention, and looking up she saw Hugh Gor- 
don standing on the steps before her. 

May I come in a few moments?’’ he asked. 

She did not attempt to conceal her astonish- 
ment, but answered at once. 

“Certainly, I shall be delighted to see you.” 

“I saw that man come in with you, I have 
been waiting for him to leave,” he said, as they 
entered the parlor. “I told you that I would 
never come to you again, until you summoned 
me, but by heaven — Celeste — by my love — I felt 

8o 


PASSION 


8i 


it my duty to speak to you.” He laid his hands 
almost roughly on her shoulders, and gazed into 
her face, his own full of suppressed excitement. 

Do you know that your conduct with that 
man — that creature — is making you the talk of 
the city? Are you mad that you will continue to 
keep on as you have been, for the past six 
weeks?” 

I think I can manage my own affairs, Mr. 
Gordon, at any rate I have not appointed you, 
my procurator.” 

^‘Oh! I am not daunted by that, I was fully pre- 
pared for your hauteur, sarcasm, anything your 
mood called up, but for all that, I mean to speak. 
Do you realize that you are suddenly seen no 
where, that all invitations are declined by you, 
and that the whole town is aware that you spend 
several hours every evening at the church alone 
with that creature?’^ 

Celeste turned pale. 

It is they who are mad,” she exclaimed; I 
am studying. Angels could be present, it is 
nothing but hard work.” 

Then why not have him come to your house 
regular days in the week like any other pro- 
fessor?” 

‘‘ Because he is not like any other.” Her eyes 
flashed and the color mounted to her brow. 

The man is a saint.” 

Passion — 6 


82 


PASSION 


Gordon burst into derisive laughter. 

He does not look like one at any rate; it 
will be hard to make it believed, and since your 
intimacy with him, strange, ugly stories, things 
that I could not repeat to you, are being circu- 
lated about him, at the clubs. Celeste, for 
God’s sake, give this thing up, I know it is a 
whim born of your erratic nature, but you are 
ruining yourself; for the love you once had for 
me — ” 

She shook herself from beneath his touch. 

<^That which they say of him is false, vile un- 
truth, infamous slander. With all his knowledge 
and genius he lives like a great stupid dog, 
he thinks only of his music.” 

‘^What do you know of his life ?” 

She was silent, she really knew nothing. 

<*Ah! You see how wrong you are,” gaining 
hope by her silence, remember how I love you. 
Celeste, and know that every word that is 
breathed against your name, is like the lash of 
a whip across my face. At least promise me 
that you will not go to the church again, or ride 
through the streets with that unnatural object by 
your side. Give me the privilege of hurling the 
lie to the first man who dares to couple your 
name with his, from this night.” 

“ I will promise you nothing,” she said, her 
delicate nostrils dilated, her wondrous eyes 


PASSION 


83 


flashing with anger, and I will show the world 
that I will not be dictated to.’^ 

Gordon interrupted her. 

‘‘You need say no more,” he remarked, then 
bowed low and walked over to the door, “pardon 
me for liaving intruded upon you; when you 
need a friend send for me.” 

She made no reply, or any effort to keep him; 
yet once walking in a forest with the sun danc- 
ing upon them through the leaves, and her 
laughter mingling with the song birds, she had 
unbound her hair and covered their faces with 
the golden mesh, that they might hide their 
kisses, he said, from the wood nymphs. 

A moment more she heard the outside door 
close. 

At first she stood still and gazed about her, 
then pressed her eyes with the palms of her 
hands. Jerking them away with a start, she 
said aloud, “why should I care? Has he not 
said they are nothing ? Shall I be swayed by the 
frenzy of a jealous man, and idle club gossip? I 
shall not even consider them,” she added haught- 
ily. But she was trembling violently as she as- 
cended the steps to her room. 

Opening the door, she saw Nanette in her lit- 
tle silk flowered wrapper, serene and patient, 
sitting before the fire. 

“Celeste, darling,” she said, rising to meet her, 


84 


PASSION 


have waited in your room for you. I wish to 
plead with you, dear, to leave that poor creature 
in peace. It is almost heartless to break off the 
ways of his life for a temporary pastime for your- 
self. You will regret it I am sure. You do not 
care for him — you cannot.^’ 

‘‘Will even you persecute me, Nanette?” 
Celeste cried, interrupting her, “can I have no 
rest — must all happiness be denied me ? Must 
I forever be upbraided? Shall every little sim- 
ple thing I do to make life endurable, be criti- 
cised and condemned.” 

“Celeste ! Celeste !” Nanette called, excitedly, 
“how unjust you are ! How can you talk to me 
so?” 

But Celeste did not hear, she had thrown her- 
self across the bed and was sobbing aloud. 

‘f Forgive me, dearest,” Nanette said, falling 
down beside her, stroking her hair and trying 
to soothe her, “I did not know that you were 
worried, I did not mean to trouble you, I never 
mean to, I know how much you have to bear. 
Please don’t cry, please don’t, dear. Come, 
let me put you to bed, your head will ache so, 
poor Celeste, my darling, my darling!” 

She was used to these violent outbursts on the 
part of her sister, and was always a ministering 
angel. 

Celeste turned over^ and drew the girl’s head 


PASSIOi. 


85 


down Upon her breast. little comforter,’* 

she murmured. Then holding her closer still, 
<^stay with me to night, I am nervous. I want 
you close to me, close to me, my little child. ” 

<<Oh! I will, darling, I will. Let me get you 
to bed now, I am so afraid about your head.” 

Celeste permitted herself to be undressed, 
every now and then taking her sister in her arms 
and kissing her as one does little children. 

Then Nanette lowered the gas to a tiny cres- 
cent moon, slipped her wrapper to the floor and 
jumped under the coverings. 

Nestling to Celeste, she threw her fair child- 
ish arms over her and fell asleep. 

Celeste held the little hand close in hers, and 
laid awake. 


CHAPTER XIII 

“Thou art beautiful, oh, my beloved." 

Carl was in a dream of happiness. 

It was the period before the expression of love, 
when it flutters tremblingly within one, ready to 
burst forth at any time, yet suppressed for the 
fear of too great joy. 

With him it was reverential suppression. The 
feast was before him; the table set with its golden 
fruit and sparkling wines. It was sufficient as 
yet, to behold. 

There is an innate feeling in perfect love that 
fears to taste, yet longs ever for the moment 
when through weakness that fear must vanish. 

The season itself seemed suited to his mood. 

The skies were brighter since Lent crept in on 
her knees; the spring air tenderer and more 
caressing; the very streets had become church 
aisles, with an appearance of holiness about them, 
in which women with hands clasped reverently 


PASSION 


87 


over their prayer books, walked in solemn saint- 
like procession. The birds were timidly twitter- 
ing in the branches, on which the leaves were 
just beginning to grow; bluebells and jonquils 
were peeping up, folded still, they too, afraid. 
All nature was in preparation, ready to break 
into song and flower and sunshine. His heart 
was swelling with the rest. 

The days were busy ones for Celeste. 

She wished to have her ball take place during 
Easter, and there was very little time for prepa- 
ration, and much to be done. 

She went with Carl to select the velvet for his 
suit, and gave directions about the making of it, 
even leaving with the tailor her own beautiful 
picture of Mozart. 

She bought the stockings herself, and pre- 
sented him with the buckles for his shoes, which 
she also selected. 

Wentworth’s interest if possible, exceeded her 
own. When once he had consented, his soul 
was in his effort to please her, to do all that she 
desired, as she desired it. 

The lurid light of passion blinded him, and he 
followed her about with radiantly illuminated 
countenance. Once when leaving her, trembling, 
he fell at her feet and kissed her skirts. 

The next day he stayed away, afraid. 

He was careful in considering the smallest 


88 


xASSION 


points, and would go back to the tailor’s a dozen 
times a day to give some trifling direction, or to 
be sure that the idea was being carried out 
properly. 

He brought from the bottom of his trunk two 
old diamonds, a ring and pin, which he spent 
hours in cleaning, and getting ready to wear. 

He was like a child in his eager excitement, 
running about and dropping in at all hours of 
the day, to be assured that he was doing every- 
thing that Celeste wished. 

He neglected his business, and was so cross 
and insulting to the members of the choir, that 
many of them had complained to the minister, 
and some had left. This he scarcely noticed, 
r His shyness had in a measure worn off, and he 
was more at home in Celeste’s house, lying on 
the sofa by the hour, waiting for her, if she 
happened to be out, and no one was there. 

Once or twice he played for Nanette, soft 
spiritual airs, that brought tears to the girl’s eyes 
and gave her a sweet reverence for him. ‘<You 
should be an angel or a nun,” he said to her, and 
told her strange wonderful stories that were the 
themes upon which he had built his musical com- 
positions, that would some day move the world, 
and introduce a new era in music. 


CHAPTER XIV 

“ I have put off my coat, how shall I put it on?” 

The evening of the ball the weather turned 
warm almost like summer. The windows had 
to be lowered from the top, and the breeze 
wafted the sweetness of the flowers to the very 
street. 

Celeste had decided that the floral decorations 
should be entirely scarlet. There were harps, 
guitars and mandolins, all represented in these 
vivid flowers. Everything was brilliant and gor- 
geous. The gratification of her most exagger- 
ated conception had been carried out. She ^ 

herself was decked, covered in these scarlet 
blossoms caught with rubies, a spray of them 
glowing in her hair. 

The rooms were filling gradually. 

There was suppressed excitement and ill -con- 
cealed curiosity on the part of the guests. Each 

one was anxious to see this being who had so 
89 


go 


PASSION 


absorbed their hostess that they had all been for- 
gotten. 

A thousand stories of him, his appear- 
ance, his life, his genius, his isolation — even his 
depravity — had been afloat. 

All had united in declaring the whole thing 
disgusting, but none had been able to resist the 
temptation to come. 

The lights burned their brightest, the scent of 
the flowers was almost enervating; the piano 
stood open beneath its crimson arch, from which 
red candles shot out like blazing petals. 

The latest guests had arrived. Women began 
to use their fans restlessly, conversation ceased 
to flow smoothly, all eyes were turned frequently 
to the door and each was impatient. 

‘‘I wish this miserable music business was 
over,” one young man said to his sweetheart, 
whose gaze he could not hold; “it is only spoil- 
ing a very pleasant evening.” 

“ Have you ever seen him?” said another, 
laughing; “I hear that she says he lives like a 
beast, and thinks like a god!” 

“I would not let Helene come,” a decollete 
beauty whispered; “ I do not think it well for 
young girls to witness these violent affairs, es- 
pecially when the woman is as beautiful as Ce- 
leste Carmen. It seems to unbalance them; and 
girls are so imitative.” 


PASSION 


91 


I should be sorry to think that my Nina 
could be so easily unbalanced,’^ her friend an- 
swered, glancing over at her rather plain-looking 
daughter whom she had forbidden to walk on the 
street with Helene, — she had been told that 
Helene flirted so passing the hotels. 

Old Colonel Benson was pushing his way to 
Celeste, very red and puffy. Well, my dear 
madame,” he blurted out, so this is the grand 
finale to our musical ideas? but I don’t under- 
stand it all. You seem to have revised things — 
it is Hamlet with Ophelia left out this time.” 
He laughed in his uproarious fashion, and went 
on. << Where is all the singing that was going 
to waft us old sinners straight into paradise? 
Why, I have been to that church every Sunday, 
and indeed, madame, you are responsible for the 
dangerous condition of my soul — you are, indeed. 
It is on the point of being lost, madame, from 
listening to that ” — the habit of damn was strong, 
but the colonel bravely resisted — abominable 
trash, delivered so fashion.” 

He drew up his flat shoulders, pointed his fin- 
gers, and pulled down his mouth. 

The imitation was ludicrous, yet perfect, and 
Celeste laughed aloud. 

**But upon my word, my dear,” the old fellow 
continued, bringing down his voice to a whisper, 
and rolling up his eyes till only the whites 


92 


PASSION 


showed, ^^you are looking lovely — you are a 
veritable Chloris — you are perfect. Would that 
I were Zephyrus! You are the one woman that 
has wrecked my life!’^ 

Celeste laughed again, tapped him with the 
end of her fan, and was about to reply, when a 
sudden rustling at the door, then a parting of 
the guests about her, and Carl stood before her, 
the realization of her imagination. 

Her expression became glorified as she gazed 
on him; she half believed herself in the presence 
of something far removed from mortal, and 
longed to bend her knee and cross herself. She 
caught her breath hurriedly, as she extended him 
her hand, and her lids raised and lowered rap- 
idly, as before a sudden light. 

He was indeed remarkable looking. 

His clothes, of the finest velvet, fitted him to 
perfection. At the knees sparkled tiny buckles, 
and on his shoulders large ones. His thick 
floculent locks were brushed back from his fore- 
head, and his eyes had a calm, determined look, 
as if ready to defy them all. 

A profound hush fell upon everyone for a few 
seconds, then there was much smiling, sarcastic 
curling of the lips, and some whispering. 

‘‘Can I play at once?” Carl asked in alow 
voice, bowing before Celeste, “ I wish to be over 
with it.** 


PASSION 


93 


She could not speak, but straightway con- 
ducted him through the company to the piano. 

Stand where I can see you,” he said, almost 
imperatively. It is my life that I will play to 
you to-night, from the beginning till now. The 
last theme will be my love.” 

He was so pale that Celeste feared for the per- 
formance. 

‘•Are you nervous?” she asked; “shall I get 
anything for you — some water?” 

“ I am not in the least nervous; these people 
are nothing to me. I am conscious only of you.” 

His eyes rested for a moment on her bare, 
white shoulders. Her beauty overpowered him. 

Could he look at her and play! 

His hands were trembling slightly. Forcing 
his self-control, he pulled out the stool and 
seated himself. 

“The first chord,” he said, “represents the 
spark of life that animated my being.” 

Celeste went to the end of the piano and 
leaned lightly against it, a rapt look in her eyes, 
her bosom notably heaving. 

There was scarcely a sound in all the crowded 
rooms. This piano playing, an ordinary affair 
in itself, had assumed exaggerated importance, 
all were waiting in breathless anticipation, many 
to give vent to condemnatory criticism. 

The chord of life he had mentioned to Celeste, 


94 


PASSION 


was struck with such staccato electric terseness, 
that many people started as though a flash of 
lightning had passed through the rooms. It was 
followed by feeble uncertain whining strains; 
then the gladness of the young child was ex- 
pressed, when the whole room seemed filled with 
the odor of violets and an atmosphere of pale 
green. Then early youth with glimpses of sun- 
shine and shadow, awakening passion and 
suppressed emotion. Then manhood as it had 
been to him, with its isolation and misanthropic 
tendency. These strains were hideous and 
lonely, the harmony was close and apparently 
discordant; occasionally there was a wail of pas- 
sionate longing and mournful prayer, but oftener 
the chords followed upon each other, in painful 
reckless despair — the bass crashed against the 
treble, and the treble trilled above the bass; in 
the midst of this as though the heavens had 
opened and given an angel flight to lead his 
hands on and on to sweetness, came soft ravish- 
ing sounds full of ecstacy and enchantment. The 
notes quivered and reverberated under his touch, 
the melody was lost as we lose ourselves in 
kisses, but the harmony pulsated and throbbed, 
and convulsively throbbed and pulsated, till every 
heart responded, and throughout the entire 
company was breathless intoxication. 

Celeste involuntarily laid her hand over her 


PASSION 


95 


heart, the tears gushed to her eyes, and her lips 
trembled. 

Finally stronger chords were clearly sounded, 
containing inspiration, hope, resolve; and then 
it was impossible to divine what, his fingers were 
seized with madness, from one end of the piano 
to the other they flew, not a single note was 
silent an instant, all joined in loud, concussive, 
triumphant peals. Chords shrieked, some wailed, 
others sobbed. Scales of exultant laughter fol- 
lowed choruses of praise; there was no terminal 
to this piece, no descending from the climax to 
die away in a millifluous tonic. One high thrill- 
ing, jubilant cry, and his hands dropped by his 
side, and he sprang to his feet. 

His face was illuminated with his genius. 
Pale and beautiful his eyes glowed. Above them 
the yellow curls had fallen on his brow. 

For an interval there was not a sound. People 
did not seem to have recovered breath. Most 
of them were pale. The rooms were very hot. 
The red flowers were wilting. The scarlet vines 
that had festooned the chandeliers closed their 
petals. Some of the candles in the floral arch 
had burned low and were smoking. A young 
girl, a consumptive, was feeling faint, and some 
one was passing a glass of water high over the 
he ads of the others. A burst of applause followed 
that was deafening. 


96 


PASSION 


Celeste was standing still, with both hands 
pressed against her heart. There seemed to 
have been a responsive nerve within her for every 
note he had struck. He had played upon her 
even as he had upon the instrument and she was 
vibrating like a bell that has been sounded. 
Carl seeing his opportunity passed quickly from 
the room, all making way as he went. 

Reaching the hall, he stepped into the recess, 
and leaned against the flower wreathed banister. 

When Celeste went to seek him he raised his 
eyes to her full of entreaty. 

<'May I not go?” he asked. * ‘Excitement 
makes me ill. I am so unused to it.” 

“They all wish to meet you,” she replied. 

“Will you not spare me?” 

She could not refuse him. He looked ill and 
tired, and those dark circles were forming be- 
neath his eyes. 

“How very delicate he must be,” she thought. 
“He cannot stand what a child would not feel.” 

Even she could not fully comprehend the im- 
mensity of the performance he had given, or the 
exquisite sensitiveness of his genius. 

She followed him out on the porch. It was 
warm and still. The city was in a mist, and the 
lights gleamed soft and yellow, even the stars 
were half obscured. A faint breeze stirred the 


PASSION 


97 


stillness, and blew the perfume of the flowers in 
their faces. 

Celeste looked like a floral statue erected on 
the marble upon which she stood. 

*^Carl,’* she said, dropping her voice to a 
whisper, ^'we have never spoken each other’s 
name to one another. Will you not call me by 
mine before you go?’^ 

have not dared. I am afraid. Away from 
you I long to climb the highest point of the 
mountain, and shout aloud your name, and all 
that is smouldering within me — before you I am 
afraid — but this once, if I may,” he continued 
wildly, taking her hands, laying them against his 
breast, and drawing her to him, <^now while you 
are a vision, more than a reality, now while I am 
exalted by what I have accomplished through 
you and for you. Celeste — Celeste — Celeste,” 
he murmured over and over, then lower still, 
‘*my love — thou who hast awakened me — my 
life — my queen!” 

She felt his hot breath on her throat, and in a 
moment more the impress of his burning lips on 
her cool smooth flesh. 

Before she could speak, he had turned from 
her and fled down the street. 

Celeste returned to her guests her heart beat- 
ing, passion and exultation struggling within her. 

In the hall she glanced up and saw Hugh 

passion— 7 


98 


PASSION 


Gordon leaning against the wall, handsome and 
striking in evening attire, a look of pain and 
scorn on his patrician face. 

‘‘I am ashamed of you. Celeste,” he said as 
she passed him. 

She felt the blood mount to her face. She 
was ashamed, too^ before him, but she ignored 
his remark. 

‘‘Ah! Hugh, I had not seen you before, I 
hope you enjoyed the music.” 

“The music!” he muttered, and turned and 
went up the steps to the apartments assigned to 
the gentlemen. For some reason there was no 
servant in sight. He walked over and poured 
out half a tumbler of brandy, and drank it. Then 
vaguely looked about him. 

He felt that he was in Celeste’s own room, and 
the thought caused him exquisite emotion. 
Everything bespoke her from the frescoed roses 
on the wall to the pale, silken coverlids. The 
odor of jessamine filled the air; her little bird in 
its golden cage was asleep. 

“Could I cease to love her for a moment, I 
might despise her, ” he thought. ‘ ‘She is unworthy 
and yet I love her but the more. Though a 
thousand men possessed her 1 would hold her to 
my heart proudly, should she return to me in the 
end. Bah! I will not admit these thoughts — 
who says love is ennobling, lies — and yet through 


PASSION 


99 


her is not my life purer? And again, is purity born 
of indifference to all save one object the ele- 
ment that weighs in the scale of man’s honor?” 

He caught a glimpse of himself in a mirror, 
and laughed aloud at his own reflection. 

‘‘Moralizing!” he exclaimed, “I will cure 
that, my friend.” He poured out another glass 
of brandy, and drank it down, then turning 
quickly, picked up his hat, walked over to the 
door — here he hesitated. 

It was strange, sweet pleasure, this standing 
in her room. 

In a moment he recrossed the threshold and 
was beside her bed. The brandy was beginning 
to swim in his head a little. He knelt down and 
hid his face in his hands on the silken spread. 

A step on the stair startled him. He rose 
quickly, and striking a match, was in the act of 
lighting a cigarette, when an acquaintance en- 
tered. They exchanged a few words, then Hugh 
claiming to be tired and bored with the whole 
affair, left the house. 

The ball was now at its height. 

The musicians had entered and were playing 
a dreamy waltz tune. 

Celeste had not recovered her self-possession. 
Couples whirled past her, like frolicsome 
shadows. 

The supper room had been opened and the 


100 


PASSION 


strong insidious odor of coffee, was stealing in, 
and blending with the breath of the flowers, like 
virtue and vice uniting. 

Never was she more brilliant, and yet never 
was there an evening in her life of which she 
could form less recollection. For she saw in 
the midst of the throng but one pale face with its 
worshipful eyes set in purple circles; above all 
the loud murmur of voices, she heard only that 
low one whispering, Celeste,^’ and the sound 
of the orchestra was lost in the wierd, passionate 
tones, that had told the story of a life. 

She heard him discussed, praised, criticised; 
she also saw conversations end abruptly as she 
approached, and she knew that she was being 
condemned. But she had grown almost as in- 
different as he, to these people. She had for 
the time left their world, and this visit to it was 
made like one in a dream, being in one place, 
living in another. 


CHAPTER XV 

“Rise up, my love, my fair one, and come away.” 

It was the evening of the third day before Ce- 
leste saw Wentworth again. The weather had 
turned cold and disagreeable; a fine misty rain 
was falling as she approached the church. 

Some distance off she could see him in the old 
brown clothes, striding up and down the side- 
walk as though caged by invisible bars. 

As the carriage approached he sprang toward 
it, pulled open the door, grabbed off his shabby 
cap, and revealed his face distorted with such 
anger, that Celeste felt her heart leap with a 
feeling of almost fear. 

“Do not get out,” he exclaimed, waving her 
back, “ they have dared deny me the right to re- 
ceive you here — you a saint, an angel, a seraph, 
you in whose sacred presence they should bow 
their heads in shame! — these hypocrites, devils, 
fools, have said that you cannot enter here, 1 
have torn their organ to pieces, I have ” 

XOl 


102 


PASSION 


^‘Stop!” said Celeste, laying her hand upon 
his shoulder, *^you must not talk that way; 
they have a right to refuse to permit you to teach 
in the church.” 

<*Ah! they did not say that, the fiends, but,” 
he added, his face growing more and more livid, 
is not they — they are but the instruments — 
it is God. His is the hand which has interfered, 
because I got out of my dirt, and wore fine 
clothes; because I dared for a moment to forget 
the position in which He had placed me; be- 
cause I ceased work, and acknowledged my 
heart with its right to love and be happy; be- 
cause I worshiped at your feet and forgot Him, 
His hand has thrust me back! He puts us all 
where He wants us, and I dared erect my judg- 
ment against His, and He has punished me. 
But I will show Him who is master of myself, 
though the flames of hell envelop me through 
all eternity! I will go and prepare a place for 
you more beautiful than He Himself has done; 
for I will combine all that He has given the 
whole world into one small space; there shall be 
music and light and soft shadows, and the sing- 
ing of ” 

“Hush!” said Celeste, in an awed voice, 
“ this is blasphemy. Get into the carriage; you 
must not stand in the rain, you are ill already. 
Try to compose yourself,” 


PASSION 


103 


. He got in without seeming to know what he 
did. 

Celeste called to the driver to take them home, 
and they drove off. He scarcely paused in his 
talking. His excitement amounted to frenzy. 
‘‘And you will come,” he said, “you will come 
and lie on a silken lounge, with the palm branch 
over you, where I may look upon you and play 
to you, telling you in that manner of my love, 
my worship ! There will be much for me to learn, 
and I shall be overpowered and afraid, but you 
will teach me; for until I met you I lived like an 
imprisoned beast. I do not know the reward men 
seek for love, I shall ask nothing of you, not 
even that you lay your hand upon my brow, only 
that I may lie at your feet and burn in my wor- 
ship of you till I am consumed; that in some 
way I may learn to serve, that I may give forth 
to you unreservedly all that is within me, only 
begging that you will sometimes give me a 
thought that is not bought of music, and will say 
to me that I am worthy to love!” 

“I will come,” she said, softly, “I will come.” 

“ Even though the fools prate?” he asked. 

“Even though they prate,” she answered low. 

“Then you love me!” he cried. “It is not 
impossible. Ah! God, it is not impossible!” 

“ You must be quiet,” she whispered. “Yes, 
I love you.” 


PASSION 


J04 

The streets were dark, the drizzle had turned 
into a hard rain that was beating against the 
panes. His eyes were wild and tears were in 
her own. 

* ‘ T each me thy ways, ” he muttered. * * T each 
me thy ways, I do not know, I do not dare ; I 
am helpless, the light is so great, and yet I am 
in the dark. 

He slipped down at her feet, and buried his 
face in her lap. 

^ 

That night at ten o’clock he was standing in 
the little plot of ground so long considered his 
own. The pale young grass was wet, the earth 
sodden, but the rain had ceased, and the moon 
was battling her way among the moving clouds 
like a phantom ship on troubled waters. **It 
will take every cent,” he was saying to himself, 
** all the savings of my life — the land, the house, 
all must go.” But there was no sadness in his 
face, the glory of his love was shining there, and 
not even the farewell he had come to say, could 
dim its lustre. And indeed the sacrifice was not 
so great, all of which she was not a part had 
already lost its value to him. 

This day he had given up the best por- 
tion of his living. To-night he was bidding 
adieu to his hope of a home, the one that he had 
planned and cherished in his mind for years. 


PASSION 


105 


To morrow would begin the expenditure of every 
cent he had for what he had already begun to 
call the blessed abode.” 

He looked around him vacantly, his thoughts 
fixed on neither one thing or the other. A dog 
came up and sniffed at him, and looked up in his 
face, but he saw or heard nothing. 

Presently he walked stealthily away, murmur- 
ing, And there must be an organ, for the piano 
would only suit certain moods.” 


CHAPTER XVI 

" For thy love is better than •wine." 

After this preparations for the room occupied 
his entire time. He saw little of Celeste, never 
feeling entirely at ease in her house, and con- 
stantly running against persons who almost 
ignored him, and in whose presence^he felt the 
most rebellious hatred. 

He refused peremptorily to play to them ever, 
and when addressed replied either with sarcasm 
or blunt coarseness that was shocking. When 
admonished by Celeste for this latter, he would 
answer that he never used a word that was not 
in the Bible. 

The room he selected was in the top of a very 
high building. There were other apartments 
rented to artists, milliners, dressmakers, mani- 
cures, etc. 

The floors were constantly being scrubbed, 
and the elevator was never still. In the hallway 

106 


PASSION 


107 


and on the stairs were numerous advertisements, 
of signs and hands, painted on tin, pointing in 
all directions. His own room faced westward. 
He chose it on account of its retired situation, 
the beautiful view of the sunset it afforded, and 
the clear sweep of the heavens. 

He was weeks coming to decision, having 
visited in the meantime every office building in 
the city, and now that his choice was made he 
felt no impatience, being content with her prom- 
ise to come when all was ready. The days he 
spent selecting wall paper, rugs, draperies, 
lamps and furniture, ripened into many weeks, 
and it was now early in June, when standing in 
the center of the spacious room and viewing his 
work he pronounced it complete, and waited for 
Celeste. 

He wore his velvet suit, and in his face was a 
proud restful look. 

It must please her,’^ he thought, and there 
was nothing more than this to desire. Every- 
hing had been done by himself that was possible. 
Not a curtain was hung by an outsider, not a rug 
laid ; the very furniture was left at the door for 
him to drag in and arrange. 

It was his belief that from the day he dedi- 
cated the room to her it was sacred and no other 
should enter it. 


io8 


PASSION 


Only his Wagnerian imagination could have 
conceived of the decorative effects produced. 

The walls had the appearance of being draped 
and festooned in pale blue, caught aside by 
cupids with shadowy scarlet wings. At stated 
intervals there appeared to be golden pillars 
reaching to the ceiling, which represented angels 
bathing in clouds, at the base of these pillars 
were blooming lilies, the green leaves lying 
against them. The floor was of red tile, covered 
with Persian rugs in pale nebulous tints. In one 
corner, beneath a drooping palm, was a velvet 
lounge in white and gold, and on the end of the 
grand piano, in a silver tube, a rose bush held a 
hundred crimson blossoms. 

That which appeared to have engaged his at- 
tention most was the grouping and arranging of 
lights. There were lamps of all descriptions, 
with various shadings, hanging from the ceiling, 
standing about in corners and occupying spaces 
on the tables. Each reflected a different color, 
and the blending was soft and mystical. 

Tiny earthen jars sent forth little curling vol- 
umns of smoke of a pervasive, sensuous odor. 

Besides these things, odd flights of the imagi- 
nation were exemplified, all worshipful in their 
tendencies. 

One was a picture of Celeste in a massive 
frame, resting on an easel. It had been en- 


PASSION 


109 

larged from a photograph that she had given 
him, and painted under his directions. It was 
perfect in execution, even to the golden tips of 
her long lashes. Suspended above it was a gold 
crown which emitted petite dazzling gas flames, 
and above this, with outstretched wings, a cupid 
in rose marble. 

This was only one of the thoughts that it had 
pleased him to materialize for her benefit. 

Another was the parting of draperies, reveal- 
ing an altar on which pale green and violet can- 
dles burned. On this also, was a small picture of 
herself, framed in white roses carved out of ivory. 

The unceasing labor of the past weeks, the 
restless nights, when he could not sleep for 
planning and arranging in his mind; the eager 
expectation of the last two days, when all was 
complete and ready for her reception, had un- 
consciously told upon him. He felt fatigue now 
that he could not possibly shake off, and drop- 
ping into a low chair almost at the very moment 
of her arrival, without knowing, he fell asleep. 

Celeste, bearing in mind the minute directions 
he had given her, at last stood before the door. 

She knocked softly, but receiving no answer 
turned the knob and stole quietly in. 

The effect upon her, as she closed the door 
and stood within these strange surroundings, 
was subduing and intense. 


no 


PASSION 


The sweet seductive odors, the various col- 
ored lights that met and blended with each other, 
the numerous draperies suggesting rather than 
exhibiting shades, the man himself composed in 
sleep, his strong white hands so quiet, with the 
queer ring flashing, the religious aspect of every 
thing, filled her with passionate adoration, and 
kneeling down before him, she raised his arms, 
put them about her neck, and buried her face on 
his breast. 

He awoke, not with a start, but naturally, as 
though he expected to find her there, and drew 
her closer to him. 

<^Dear child,” he said, ^^this moment that has 
at last come to us, the seclusion, the thought 
we shall have, the words we shall speak, 
the pledges we shall make one to another, 
are all invested with priceless value. God 
seems present. He does not frown. His 
hand is not raised against us. He has permitted 
us this occasion. To me is given absolute evi- 
dence of the greatest gift in this life ever granted 
man. The supreme moment is here, a moment 
only for soulful communion.” Celeste did not 
speak, she was gazing solemnly into his face> and 
great tears were streaming down her cheeks. 

He brushed them away, and closed her eyes 
with gentle, lingering kisses. 

<^But come!” he said, a joyous smile lighting 


PASSION 


iir 


his face, ^^this is not a time for tears, I have 
that to show you, which is so beautiful, that your 
very soul will be filled with peace. 

It is all beautiful, beautiful,” she answered, 
vaguely, rising to her feet, << more than beauti- 
ful, it is heavenly.” 

‘*No,” he whispered, half in awe, leading her 
to the window and drawing aside the curtain, 
‘*it is not heavenly — it is love — there is heaven P* 

** Love is heaven,” she answered. 

**And God is love, ^tis said,” he replied, *'and 
if God is love, and love is heaven, then heaven 
is love. My queen, I know not whereof I 
speak!” 

They looked in each other’s eyes and smiled, 
and the color surged in their faces. 

Then they turned their gaze out and viewed 
the vast expanse of sky before them, the faint 
red still lingered in the far west, and the moon, 
a clear crescent, seemed the jewel crown of an 
invisible goddess. 

For some time they remained quiet, standing 
side by side, each feeling the presence of the 
other, that the supreme moment had arrived, and 
yet inadequate to the expression of that which 
they experienced 

Carl,” Celeste said at last, <*Ihad such a 
strange, terrible dream about us last night; shall 
I tell it to you?” . _ 


112 


PASSION 


<'That I may listen to you speak/’ he an- 
swered, passionately. 

** We were strolling through fields smooth and 
green and beautiful, and before us were many 
hills with rivulets, and flowers were every- 
where. One instant there were daisies, in- 
numerable daisies, and the next wild roses, 
long stretches of wild roses, tossing and 
swaying and filling the air with fragrant perfume. 
From every flowejr, every tree, and every glist- 
ening pebble issued wondrous sweet melodies, 
but all in different keys, and ere one strain could 
be caught, another would chime with it, in wild 
discordant confusion of sound.” 

<‘And thou wert pained, my beloved,” Carl 
said, tenderly. 

“The sun shone bright, but without heat, like 
early summer; the day beauty of heaven was un- 
folded to us, but the sound kept on increasing. 
Could we but stay our footsteps they would 
cease, but it seemed impossible, an unseen power 
urged us on, once we passed a large tree, and 
the desire for rest was so strong upon us that we 
threw ourselves upon the ground, but immedi- 
ately the very earth exploded with deafening 
music, and a fear so terrible took possession of 
us that we ran frantically away from the place. ” 

“ I would kiss thee on thy ears in thy sleep, 


PASSION 


113 

that only the whispers of love should reach thee 
in thy dreams.” 

<< Finally I grew utterly weary, my limbs 
ached, and I would have fallen, but you put out 
your hand and supported me firmly, and so we 
went on for a while, up and down hills, through 
streams, and dense woods, I all the while begging 
for rest, and you replying, ‘we cannot, you 
know that we cannot.’” 

“ I could not have responded so cruelly to thy 
prayer.” 

“Then I became utterly exhausted; when I 
could proceed no farther, you took me in your 
arms and carried me. The sound ceased, and I 
found rest; sweet peace filled me, and for awhile 
I could not speak, thinking only of my great joy. 
But soon I remembered that you too were tired, 
and I raised my head and looked up at you. 
Your face was pale unto death your eyes red 
and staring, your lips drawn and compressed. I 
cried out, desperately, ‘ can we not stop?’ and 
with a look of sublime strength, you answered, 
‘you know we cannot.’ ‘But you have given 
me rest,’ I said. ‘And must endure for both,* 
you answered. At this such an agony of despair 
filled me that I burst into tears, and awoke. Oh! 
Carl, Carl, what is the meaning of it all?” 

“How sweet your voice is,” he answered, 
closing his eyes, and speaking absently, as 

fasson — 8 


PASSION 


114 

though the sound and not the words, remained 
with him when she ceased to speak. 

He leaned his forehead for a second against 
her shoulder, and it seemed to her that she could 
feel the leaping of his heart, across the space 
that divided them; suddenly looking up, he 
said: 

The time has come! Shall I play to you?” 

**Yes,” she faintly answered, for her throat 
seemed melting. 

He led her to the lounge, with its white and 
gold draperies, and the palm branches spread- 
ing out above, and drooping over the pillow. 
Without a word she let him arrange the cushion 
for her head. Gathering up the silken train of 
her gown, he threw it across her feet. 

The amber glow of a lamp near by shone on 
her face, her yellow hair caught back from her 
temples was like spun gold, her eyes that tried 
to hold his gaze, lowered dreamily, and the long 
lashes left a shadow on the cream tinted cheek. 

He spoke not of her beauty, nor asked but 
once concerning her comfort. Then turning the 
lamp till a violet shade fell upon her, he walked 
over to the organ and began the performance so 
long deferred. 


CHAPTER XVII 

" My beloved is mine, and I am his.*' 

At first the room quivered and trembled, the 
oboe uttered a cry as if suddenly awakened, and 
then followed music that, stirred her senses to 
madness and translated her into the world he had 
pictured. 

He had the power of interpreting to her, and 
while she laid with closed eyes, he led her into 
green fields and rich pastures; spell-bound, she 
saw simple homes and gentle faces, and 
churches where women with mournful, solemn 
eyes were worshiping; then graves over which 
they were weeping, and of a sudden the light of 
a palace gleamed before her, and she entered 
and found herself in the midst of gods 
and goddesses feasting and making merry 
to the melody of golden harps played by spirits 
and fairies. Then a great crash came, as if the 
earth itself had opened and she was tumbled 


ii6 


PASSION 


headlong into darkness. But in an instant light 
broke upon the gloom, as though high walls of 
rock had parted, and she witnessed through a 
firey mist scantil}- -dressed women, holding the 
heads of their lovers in their laps, or twining 
their arms about them; and these merged into 
angels, floating above blue seas, chanting songs 
of peace. 

When he ceased to pla}^ she arose ere the last 
chord died away, and dragged herself over to 
him, holding by the chairs as she went. 

She was trembling and weak and dizzy. . 

I She took his head and laid it on her breast. 

My love,” she whispered, you are not of 
this earth!” 

‘^Have I satisfied you? Tell me that I have 
not failed — it is all that I have to offer.” 

The promise has been more than fulfilled.’* 
Dear one,” he murmured, ** I feel so thank- 
ful. Had I failed I would have believed that 
God frowned on our love. But He has seen our 
lives, known our hearts, heard our words, wit- 
nessed our steps, and pleases to give us these 
moments — me, this life blessing from you. Shall 
we not be thankful?” 

Celeste, who longed for his kisses, felt that she 
was in church, but she said nothing. 

** Think how different it might have been,” he 
continued in a rapt voice. ** Suppose we had 


PASSION 


117 

only seen each other for a moment and loved and 
then been separated, neither knowing whither the 
other went; or, worse still, that we were now 
parted by continents of great expanses of water. 
But no, we are together, able to watch, behold 
and commune even apart from the world.” 

I feel afraid,” she said ^^your love is so dif- 
ferent from all other loves.” 

^^Ah, you fear that if you should one day prove 
fickle, as they say of women, and forsake me, that 
it would be my death.” 

**Not that, not that,” she murmured, shud- 
dering. 

‘^You may properly fear it,” he replied 
calmly, putting his arm about her waist and 
looking up into her face steadily, for so it 
would be. Even now, when we are together and 
speak,to one another, it is as if my heart was 
uncovered, and you were transfusing it with life 
or death, at your pleasure. Ah! Celeste, you 
for whom I was created, you could not cause my 
end! I, too, fear.” 

The many lights and drawn curtains made 
the room very warm; the smell of the incense 
was enervating and productive of languor. Ce- 
leste closed her eyes, and her head fell back a 
little. 

Carl, looking at her, saw that she was pale as 
a lily in moonlight. You are ill!” he said anx- 


PASSION 


ii8 

iously, leading her back to the lounge. << I have 
overtaxed your strength.’’ 

<*And yet I am happy,” she answered low, 
stretching out her arms to him, I love you, I 
love you!” 

But he left her and went over and brought out 
a tiny wine set. As he walked it seemed to him 
that his body had grown very light, that his head 
was a whirling feather, and that he lifted his feet 
unnaturally high. 

He poured out a glass of wine and handed it 
to her, but she waved it from her, and lay back 
among the cushions, content in her dreamy lan- 
guor. He then knelt on the rug and laid his 
head on the pillow beside hers. He neither 
spoke or touched her, and the moments passed 
silently. 

<<Doyou not feel that there are birds in the 
room?” Celeste asked at last, in a faint voice, ** I 
cannot see but I can hear the fluttering about 
my ears.” 

<< I am blind, too,” Carl murmured, “but I 
think I can hear them.” 

She drew him to her and whispered. 

“They are chirping madly; ‘kiss me, kiss me, 
kiss me ’—can you not hear? ” 

“Yes, yes; ah! they deafen me, they have 
caught their wings in rushing waters!” 

“We will go mad,” Celeste said, “put out the 


PASSION 


119 


lights and let the moon alone shine in, they will 
be still then; I am tired/^ 

Carl rose and went about extinguishing one 
soft light after another, till the room was in dark- 
ness. In finding his way to the window, he 
stumbled against the sofa on which she lay, and, 
falling forward, his lips met hers for a second. 

** Forgive me,” he said, rising suddenly. 
*<Thou art an angel at thy rest, I thy earthly 
watcher.” 

Then he walked over and drew aside the 
heavy curtains. The breeze blew in, and set the 
pendants to the lamps gently tinkling. The 
moonlight streamed through and fell upon her; 
the palms striped her gown with funeral shad- 
ows. She lay like one dead, with her eyes 
closed and her hands crossed upon her breast. 

When he kneeled beside her again, she said in 
a dreamy voice, am a great bird myself, 
soaring, with all the little ones following,” and 
stretched forth her arms again. 

** It is the hour,” Carl stammered, huskily, <*for 
prayer. ” 

Celeste laughed a low, rippling laugh, and 
finding his face, gently traced the outlines of his 
tars with her fingers, ever and anon pressing 
his lips to hers. 

Carl thought the world was dissolving; he saw 
it submerged in liquid topaz; the trees swaying^ 


120 


PASSION 


the houses vanishing, the sunlight over all, and 
Celeste and himself floating serenely, tremb- 
lingly into heaven. 


CHAPTER XVIII 


“ From the lion’s den.” 

At home Celeste was entirely changed. She 
had become nervous and restless. She did not 
sleep at night, and Nanette would find her at the 
window shuddering as if it were winter. The 
least sound would make her start. She would 
sit still with her hands folded in her lap, and the 
tears rolling down her cheeks. Her glad, pas- 
sionate singing was a thing of the past, any 
reference to music excited or irritated her. The 
strain upon her nervous system was prostrating. 

Nanette watched her, her face full of pain and 
anxiety. She resorted to every conceivable 
measure to keep her from spending her evenings 
in a manner so productive of harmful results. 

Celeste would sometimes promise to remain at 

home, and at the last moment Nanette would 
121 


122 


PASSION 


find that she had stolen off and gone. Nothing 
had ever so completely absorbed her before. 
Nanette felt and knew that it could not last, and 
she pitied Wentworth from the bottom of her 
heart. Had it not been Celeste she would have 
despised her, but any thought against her sister, 
appeared like sacrilege to her. Nevertheless 
she felt it very hard to bear. 

She dreaded to go anywhere, for she was con- 
stantly beset with questions which she found it 
impossible to answer without confusion. She 
had been asked if Celeste intended adopting the 
stage, and a thousand other meaningless things, 
and she had replied so often that Celeste was not 
well, or was absorbed in her musical studies, 
only to have her remarks doubtfully received, 
that she naturally felt thoroughly harassed and 
disgusted with the whole thing. Besides 
Celeste’s health was impaired and that almost 
broke her heart. 

Wentworth was radiant with happiness, full of 
faith and altogether exultant and joyous as a 
child. It was his first love, and it had come to 
him in the full tide of his manhood. 

What to Celeste was a spasm of divine delight, 
that might one day die of its own intensity, was 
to him eternal, a feeling that would be followed 
should she forsake him, by loss of faith, darkness 
and despair, and his life after might be that of a 


PASSION 


123 


martyr, or a fiend, but endlessly, ceaselessly, 
wearyingly hopeless. 

Nanette felt such great pity for him that she 
longed to go to him, and speak a word of warn- 
ing, but she had only to look into his face to see 
that it was useless, the work was done. 

At last she could stand it no longer. She 
feared for her sister’s health, and she summoned 
all her courage and went to her, and asked her, 
begged her to go away, somewhere, anywhere, 
to the sea shore. To her astonishment Celeste 
eagerly consented, and even urged that there 
should be no delay. 

<<Oh! yes, little one,” she said hurriedly, hid- 
ing her face in her hands. <^Take me away, take 
me away, I need a change, somehow I am not well, 
the ocean will rest me so; oh! I long for it. How 
soon can we go?” 

Sometimes Nanette was the little mother. 
Always she bore Celeste’s moods with divine 
patience. <‘Oh! you have made me so happy,” 
she cried, ‘^for days I have been trying to ask 
you, but feared you would refuse me. This 
music has so strangely infatuated you, and it was 
making you ill, acting upon you like some slow 
insidious poison.” 

^*But I have been so happy, Nanette, and yet 
so miserable,” she added, with a look of terror, 
**you cannot understand, I do not expect you to — • 


1^4 


PASSION 


no one can, I have been in this world, and yet 
out of it, I have seen such beautiful things, and’' 
shuddering, <^such horrible ones, too.” 

*‘Hush!” said Nanette, interrupting her, and 
speaking firmly, ‘‘the opium eater lives in another 
world, but it sickens us to hear either of his joys or 
sorrows. We will go where the air comes to us 
salt and fresh, and the only music shall be the 
dashing of the waves against the shore.” 

“Oh! yes, Nanette, and we will talk of when 
we were children, darling. Do you remember 
our visits to the country? When I would take 
you out in the evenings and show you beautiful 
things in the sunset, and tell you how many miles 
mamma was away, till we would both cry as if 
our hearts would break?” 

“Yes, and I also know how you have converted 
every period of your life into sadness,” Nanette 
remarked, laughing, “with me for chief mourner. 
I even recall when you used to bury all the dead 
roses you could pick from the bushes, and make 
me wear a newspaper veil and cry at the 
funeral.” 

i “But were they not sweet days?” Celeste said, 
smiling sadly. “All days are sweet, Nanette, 
even though there be a funeral tor each one, until 
passion fills them; after that they are bitter and 
sweet for a time, then one day the sweetness flies 
av;ay, but the bitterness remains forever. Love 


PASSION 


125 


shrivels the heart as the hot sun does a flower, 
Nanette. I am glad you are a violet, little one. 
Ah! I mean to keep you in such deep shade — 
But tell me,” she rambled on, **do you remember 
the evening we went to sleep behind the turkey 
cover, after we had been telling each other what 
. the little ones were saying, and how the whole 
household came out with light wood torches and 
found us at last, and how grandma was crying 
and wringing her hands, thinking we had wan- 
dered to the river. And then how she took us 
both in her lap at once? Ah! if I could lay my 
head in that old lap once more and hear her 
sweet voice saying. *The Lord is my shepherd.* 
But they are all dead, Nanette, isn’t it horrible?’* 

**Yes, yes,** Nanette answered, hurriedly, *‘lt 
is, but do not let us think of it, you will stay 
home with me this evening and we will have tea 
together. I have been so lonely lately that I only 
want to be happy to-night.** 

‘‘And you will read to me afterwards, some- 
thing gentle and quiet. 

“Oh! yes, I will,** Nanette answered, joyfully, 
and rang the bell for tea. 

Later Celeste laid down on the rug, with her 
arms under her head, and the girl read to her, 
soft soothing lines from Mrs. Browning. She 


126 


PASSION 


was seated in a low swinging chair, and rocked 
an accompaniment to the lines. 

‘ ‘ And the little birds sang east, 

And the little birds sang west; 

And I smiled to think God’s greatness, 

Flowed around our incompleteness 
Around our restlessness, His rest.” 

<<Those words are so sweet, so sweet, Celeste 
said, absently. <‘Read them again, Nanette.’* 

Nanette saw that there were tears in her eyes, 
but otherwise a restful content on her passionate 
face, and she read the words again in a low, 
chanting voice. 

Celeste joined in, and repeated the last lines 
with her, saying the closing one over and over. 

‘‘Around our restlessness, His rest!” 


CHAPTER XIX 

* * Cruel as the grave. ” 

The next evening Celeste told Wentworth of 
her intended departure. 

It seemed to her afterwards that she had never 
seen him so joyous or radiant as when she en- 
tered. 

He was playing music very unusual, almost 
unnatural to him, a wild staccato polka air, that 
had rushed from his fingers in his eager antici- 
pation of her arrival. 

He sprang to meet her, and dropped on one 
knee before her, gathered her dress in his hands, 
and kissed it. 

<< I am so happy — so happy, he said, looking 
up and smiling through tears that rose to his 
eyes in very joy. 

** See,’’ he continued, rising to his feet and 
leading her by the hand, I have decked your 

127 


128 


PASSION 


couch in poppies, and the wine is in the ice — 
Ah! we will drink, the very fever of intemper- 
ance is within me, I shall be wild as wine makes 
me, and I will play music that you cannot be- 
lieve is in me, and you will laugh aloud, my 
angel, while I play — Oh! my love, I have been 
thinking all day that you did not understand my 
appreciation of our life ! Last evening you stayed 
away. It has been a thousand years since then, 
but I was glad because it gave me the opportu- 
nity to think of your great gift to me; when I am 
with you, I cannot think, but,” he added quickly, 
“ I could not have stood another day — what do 
you think I would have done? Rushed to your 
house, and torn down the doors — I — •” 

Celeste drew him down on the lounge beside 
her, scattering the scarlet blossoms with one 
hand. 

'‘Every word you speak pains me,” she said, 
“ I have come to tell you, Carl, that I must leave 
you — for a while.” 

His eyes expressed a startled look, an agony 
of pain crossed his face, as though some invisi- 
ble spirit had shot an arrow into his heart, it 
grew white and rigid, but he did not speak. 

She took his hands, and smoothed them with 
her own. 

“Only for a short time,” she said, soothingly. 
“ I am ill, can you not be patient?” 


PASSION 


129 


Patient, it is not that. I could be patient 
ever, even to the last hour, if you would return 
to me then as you leave me. But it will never 
be. A dream once disturbed but rarely returns, 
and if at all, brokenly. ” 

But there may come sweeter dreams.” 

** It is not possible.” 

He dropped down on his knees, and threw his 
arms about her. 

^‘Ah! beloved, postpone this parting, give me 
but a few more weeks, time for preparation — 
this is so sudden. You have not done it of your- 
self,” he added, angrily, starting to his feet. 
“Someone has influenced you — you could not 
have awakened so soon!” 

“ ’Tis true, Carl, but I know that I need to go, 
that I must go. Feel my hands how hot and 
feverish they are — I do not sleep at night.” 

“And am I the cause — have I tested you too 
far? Forgive me — ah! go — go far from me — 
leave me to my punishment — I have been suffi- 
ciently blessed. You have been crucified that I 
might see the light. Though I may never more 
behold you, yet will I have my remembrance.” 

He kneeled down before her and bowed his 
head on her lap. 

“Do not despair, Carl,” Celeste said, laying 
her hands upon the matted curls — “why should 
you be so hopeless?” 

passion — 9 


PASSION 


130 

** Why do the shadows fall upon the mountain 
side when the sun is leaving?” he asked, looking 
up into her face 

<< But the sun returns.” 

Yes, the sun returns.” 

She could not comfort him — he said no more, 
but his speechless agony was unbearable. 

After a long silence, she rose to go, then paus- 
ing, looked about her. Here was the manifes- 
tation of his worship. 

Her picture — one beneath its crown of light, 
the other framed in pale violet and blue candles, 
arrested her attention; then her eyes were 
dimmed, and she beheld but a misty palace in 
which the lights were blurred, and a man in black 
velvet with old-fashioned buckles at the knee 
stood with white, terror-stricken face gazing be- 
fore him. 

With the old horror of witnessing pain, she 
turned from him. 

<<Do not make it harder for me,” she said, 
will return.” 

Still he did not speak, and walking past her, 
held open the door. Laying his left hand on his 
heart he bowed low and permitted her to pass 
out. 

Celeste stood in the doorway and gazed at him 
for a second, then realizing the uselessness of 
words turned and left him. 


PASSION 


131 

The sound of her footsteps echoed through the 
bare hall, then all was still. 

He walked slowly over to her picture, and 
kneeling, approached his face close to it, peering 
at it with wide open eyes. 

<^A11 that is left me — all that is left me” — he 
muttered, in a hoarse voice. 

Then he rose and went about the room, going 
from one thing to another, that she had touched, 
and laying his hands upon it, as in blessing. 
When he got to the rosebush he plucked the 
blossoms one by one, and threw them beneath 
the picture. 

^<How easy to die there,” he said, ** I shall 
watch the process.” 

Going over to the window, he stood and 
looked down upon the bustling throng below. 
Everything appeared unreal to him. The peo- 
ple moving mechanical shadows. It seemed so 
useless to him, this monotonous passing up and 
down. A feeling of utter desolation took pos- 
session of him. He felt suffocated, and imagin- 
ing himself ill, tore open his collar and bared his 
breast to the air. He could not think, his mind 
strayed to senseless things. He remembered 
once when he played he was a bear for some 
children, and crawled about on his hands and 
knees. After a while he wandered back to the 
sofa with his palms pressed tight over his eyes. 


132 


PASSION 


Kneeling down on the white rug, he stretched 
out his arms, threw back his head, and prayed, a 
wordless prayer, his lips twitching convulsively 
in his effort to speak. 

Then he buried his face in the cushions, and 
kissed them, trying in the meanwhile to call her 
name, and experiencing the agony of dumbness. 
After that there was perfect stillness, not even 
the sound of breathing broke the silence. 

Daylight came and looked in on the white, 
pallid face of the man asleep upon the rug, whose 
eyes had not closed till the first grey streak of 
dawn appeared. 


CHAPTER XX 


'* Whither is my beloved turned aside.” 

The effect upon Celeste at the seaside was 
immediate. 

From the very night that she bade Wentworth 
good-bye, she began to improve. 

It was as though a weight had been lifted from 
her, and the nervous tension relieved. 

The dreamy intemperate look in her eyes dis- 
appeared. 

She rode the waves with exultant joyous cries, 
and laughed loud and merrily as she had not 
done in months. She loosened her hair that fell 
about her like a mist of gold in the sunshine, and 
tossed her head in the breeze, or laid it in the 
moist warm sand, looking up at the blue heavens, 
voluptuous enjoyment pictured on her face. 

She told Nanette over and over again that she 
was so happy, and Nanette rejoiced each day 
that it was so, but feared to see her sister grow 


134 


PASSION 


tired of this natural life; for she knew that were 
Celeste turned loose in a garden of rarest roses, 
at the end of a week she would be sighing for 
extracts. But she did not hint that such could 
possibly be the case. 

She entered enthusiastically into everything 
that suggested itself to Celeste, even to the ride 
on horseback before breakfast, which made her 
head ache all the forenoon. 

Carl’s name was never mentioned. Once 
Nanette spoke of him, but the look in Celeste’s 
face silenced her for all time thereafter. Out of 
his presence, from under his magic influence, 
away from that supernatural playing, which had 
maddened her and presented to her mind visions, 
some of which she did not dare recall, a revul- 
sion of feeling took possession of her. She for- 
got his great love; she did not attempt to realize, 
even if she fully knew, the sacrifices he had 
made. 

She had received all that he could give, while 
wandering with him hand in hand in the heaven 
he had created for her, and on a sudden had van- 
ished before him in the roseate lights, which had 
expired with her departure and left him groping 
in the dark. 

She saw him now divested of his genius, and 
the picture made her shudder. She had received 
from him all that she was capable of receiving, 


l^ASSION 


i35 


she had exhausted, not him, but her enjoyment 
of him, and she was thankful to be free. 

She knew that those passionate hours were 
ended. She had not planned how all this was to 
be explained to him, she even hoped that the 
whole affair would drift away as so many other 
things had drifted out of her life. 

On the grave of passion, flowers of indifference 
were blooming. The days passed, as only days 
at the seaside can, in varied and delightful ex- 
periences. Emile Caulfield, a new star from the 
far south, a man of ultra refinement, aristocratic 
and handsome, with a bronze complexion and 
dark hair that fell over his brow, was in constant 
attendance on Celeste. They bathed together, 
drove together, walked together, drank wine to- 
gether, and in short enjoyed themselves in that 
absorbing manner in which Celeste delighted. 

One afternoon they were returning from the 
beach, sauntering lazily in the brilliant sunshine. 
The day was perfect, the sky a light blue, un- 
flecked by a single cloud, save one great white, 
feathery bird that stretched its wings endlessly. 

Celeste was env eloped in a scarlet bathing robe, 
richly embroidered, her feet were strapped in 
sandals, her head was uncovered, and the yellow 
hair fell far below her waist in damp undulating 
waves. The sweetest peace filled her, her lips 
had just parted in a smile, when suddenly look- 


136 


PASSION 


ing ahead, she saw Carl coming towards them. 
Never had he looked as he did to-day. Not 
even the very first time she ever saw him, did he 
strike her as being so stumpy and altogether ab- 
normal. He wore a ready made suit of the very 
lightest grey, which was too large for him in 
every particular, and hung down over the 
shoulders. His long bushy hair protruded from 
beneath a straw hat several sizes too small for him. 

Celeste’s heart seemed to stand still. 

How could she before this man, whose very 
presence embodied elegance and refinement, 
speak to this queer looking object. 

How was it possible to explain the acquaint- 
ance. 

She aid not in the least know what Wentworth 
would do. She was not afraid of his intruding, 
but of some involuntary act, or demonstration, 
which would reveal the intimacy that had existed 
between them. All these thoughts flashed 
through her mind in the few seconds it took 
them to meet face to face. 

Wentworth’s countenance, as he stopped be- 
fore her, was luminous and resplendent with his 
great joy. He could scarcely resist throwing 
himself at her feet. 

He placed his left hand on his heart in the old 
way, and removing his hat, which he held off at 
arms length, bowed graciously. 


PASSION 


137 


Celeste hesitated, she knew that she had hi 
life in her hands as well as if one of them was 
within his breast clutching his heart. The hot 
blood mounted to her face and stained it in a 
deep crimson, but she did not stop. Inclining 
her head slightly she passed on, and left him 
standing, gazing at the vacancy her presence had 
left. 

‘<What a queer looking being,” Mr. Caulfield 
remarked, scrutinizing her face, and wondering 
at her evident embarrassment. 

*<Yes, but quite a genius musically; he played 
some accompaniments for me once at an enter- 
tainment. Is not the sea beautiful to-day? 
scarcely a breaker. ” 

She gathered her full robe more closely about 
her and resumed her lazy gait, that had quick- 
ened in passing Wentworth. Her delicate face 
was calm again. It was as though she had 
passed through a red light and been colored and 
suffocated an instant by the fumigation. 

<< Do not let us go in,” she said, afraid of 
Carl’s following her. 

<<We will walk away from the throng and 
lunch on the beach on fruit and wine.” 

** I shall only be too happy.” 

<‘And hungry. Hear,” she remarked, smiling. 

She turned and beckoned to her maid, who was 
following in the distance. **Go to the hotel,” 


PASSION 


138 

she said, as the girl approached. '‘Pack a 
basket with fruit and wine — do not forget the 
glasses — and say to Miss Nanette I beg she will 
excuse me from our drive this afternoon, and 
that we would be pleased to have her join us — it 
is far too lovely to be indoors.^’ She continued, 
as the girl disappeared and they walked on, "the 
cool walls of the rooms, with the closed blinds, 
is so chilling at the seashore, I love to live in 
the sunshine.’^ 

"You are an embodied collection of the rays, 
yourself. I feel no difference so long as I am in 
your presence. 

"Ah! do not flatter,*’ Celeste said, wearily, "I 
am in no mood for it. I feel unhappy — op- 
pressed by my sins, I think,” laughing nerv- 
ously. " Mr. Caulfield, do you not know that I 
believe I am a very wicked woman? It is hard 
to realize that about one’s self, and wickedness is 
so difficult to clearly define; still, I thoroughly 
believe in this sentence: 'For it is but just that 
men who often arrogate to their own merit the 
good of which they are but instruments, 
should attribute to themselves the absurdities 
which they could not prevent.* I hug those 
which have occurred through me to my heart. 
They oppress and distress me, these involuntary 
acts of my life that appear beyond my control at 
the time.** 


PASSION 


13^ 

Mr. Caulfield laughed a little, and called her 
attention to a sailboat in the distance. ‘‘ It 
looks like a big white butterfly, doesn’t it?’* 
Then returning to the subject somewhat earn- 
estly, he said, The sirens of the world must of 
necessity weep over the havoc their fascinations 
produce. But who can say what sin is, Mrs. 
Carmen? For my part, I sometimes think we 
overestimate it. We are influenced by traditions 
that have descended to us, without considering 
ourselves whether the thing we shrink from is 
really sin or not. Two hundred years from now, 
the acknowledged views that control the passion- 
ate nature in man may be jeered at as an ab- 
surdity of a past age.” 

*‘No being will ever be born without a con- 
science,” Celeste said, solemnly; *^and the same 
God will be above.” 

^‘Conscience is too variable an affair to be con- 
sidered from the standpoint of deduction, and the 
same God may not reign; that is, the same God 
that you and I credit, for God is, after all, per- 
sonal conception. We naturally look up for 
heaven, yet it may be beneath the earth, and the 
red lights of the sunset the flames* of hell — one 
can fancy anything. But to continue, I often 
think people undergo too much moral lacer- 
ation, and suffer uselessly, wondering if that 
which is the overflowing of nature — for you 


140 


PASSION 


allude to but one sin — and which springs up in 
us unbidden, is sin at all, any more than the leaf- 
ing of trees, or the bursting of buds. I mean, 
for example, that if a man catches the eye of a 
strange woman, and experiences the thrill of 
passion, while he is on his way for a doctor to 
visit his ill wife!” 

They had stopped where a line of shade 
crossed the beach. 

Celeste threw back the scarlet robe. Her 
bathing-dress that was still damp clung to her 
form. From her waist hung a heavy silken 
fringe that reached to her feet. 

‘‘Of course not,” she answered, impatiently, 
as they took their seats, “and the illustration is 
very trite. It is the indulging and pursuing such 
an emotion that is wrong.” 

“There are instances when not to pursue the 
emotion is quite as impossible as not to desire to 
do so. My wife is waiting for me in the mount- 
ains, Mrs. Carmen; the little child is ill. I can- 
not go.” 

Celeste looked up surprised. It had not oc- 
curred to her that he was married, she had not 
thought of it. “You are very wrong,” she ex- 
claimed; “ you should .go at once.” 

“I cannot.” 

For a long time they sat in silence, the salt 
breeze blowing in their faces. Celeste was think' 


PASSION 


141 


ing of Wentworth; he, though under the spell of 
her presence, of the little sick child with tangled 
curls and flushed cheeks, and a woman with 
brown, earnest eyes, walking from the cot to the 
window, to watch for him. 

The maid brought the basket, and Celeste 
emptied the richly-colored fruits on the sand and 
handed him the bottle of wine. 

**'Let us drink, she said, ‘‘then if we cannot 
resist introspection at least we will not be so blue. 
You can go, Lucette.’^ 

They were silent again, while he cut the wires 
with his pen-knife and manipulated the cork with 
his thumbs. 

“lam not a very good waiter,” he laughed, 
as the wine overflowed, and she hurriedly held 
out her glass. Celeste did not reply, but handed 
him the golden apricots, and for a time they ate the 
fruit and drank the wine, looking from one an- 
other's eyes to the sea, and from the sea to each 
other’s eyes. 

Then she spoke in a gentle voice. 

“I am sorry for what you have told me,” she 
said; “ still I might have known. Life is the 
same with all beings. There is no constancy, 
save when love is very new, or unsatisfied. It is 
because we will not admit this, that we do not. 
Possibly it hurts us to involve some one dear to 


142 


PASSION 


US. The very books that portray life as it is are 
denounced.^' 

** Simply because they betray evil and ignore 
the good.” 

The pleasure of goodness is felt,” Celeste 
remarked, holding her glass up to the sunlight; 

when it is related, it is very stupid and may 
even do harm.” 

<< Not if it savors sufficiently of the heroic. I 
have discovered that you are cynical and very 
bitter. Believe me, my friend, it is a pity — no 
woman should be. It is their sweet faith, their 
belief, even after they have witnessed untruth to 
them, that makes us love them tenderly — apart 
from our passions — and try to be better men in 
the very hour that we wrong them.” 

“Their fruitless efforts should no doubt give 
great consolation!” Celeste replied with a sneer: 
“Ah! Mr. Caulfield, we women are beginning to 
smile at such things. You do not wish us to think, 
but believe alone in what you interpret for us, you 
prefer us to be blind fools worshiping graven im- 
ages — yourselves of course,” she added, "^ith a 
slight bow. 

“ Because it is best for you,” Mr. Caulfield said, 
quietly, “all persons are happier for belief and 
worship, especially women, who, God knows, 
have little enough to comfort them. It is far 
better that they should live by rules laid down 


PASSION 


M3 


for their own happiness. Women are too emo- 
tional to think deeply. Emotion and reason 
simultaneously at work is abnormal. The wo- 
man who thinks too much is more or less a de- 
formity, and oftener than not goes through the 
world pitied or condemned. Emotion invariably 
floods the pillars of her reason; the effect upon 
her is maddening. My wife comes to me to de- 
cide every act of her life, Mrs. Carmen, and 
abides by my opinion, and assuming the entire 
responsibility of her existence, she is a happy 
woman. ” 

<*And that contents you?’^ 

<<No, it contents her, which is better.^* 

‘‘You content yourself elsewhere?” 

“You should not be personal.” Mr. Caulfield 
smiled. “Let me fill your glass, and don’t be 
so selfish with the peaches.” 

He enjoyed watching the color deepen in her 
beautiful face. 

Planting the bottle in the sand, he took her 
hands, held them in his own, and looked into her 
eyes. 

“ You are a very brilliant woman. Celeste, 
and the most beautiful I have ever known, espe- 
cially at this moment, when the wine has leaped 
into your eyes, and they are sparkling in the sun- 
light; but you would be a far happier one if 
some strong man could control and direct your 


144 


PASSION 


life; teaching you submission through the fulfill- 
ment of your love. A man who would lock the 
doors on you if necessary, and say, *lt is not 
whether any other can take your thoughts from 
me, but whether he shall have the opportunity,* 
There is no doubt that infidelity exists, and that 
people are untrue to one another. You cannot 
raise your eyes and not see it, but a woman suffers 
not so much through that which is practiced up- 
on her, as from that which she herself practices. 
I believe, however, that she may be undeniably 
true in spirit, yet sinful. She can in the same 
moment receive kisses, and weep tears of desire 
and longing for her absent lover whom she wor- 
ships. These kisses make her ashamed. Every 
woman should have some man to shield and 
protect her from herself.** 

Celeste felt her voice tremble as she raised her 
soulful eyes to his face, and answered quietly: 
**l have felt the need all my life long.’* 

You would love me absolutely, and be true 
to me,*’ he said, lowering his face to kiss hers, 
while the veins swelled in his forehead, or I 
would kill you — draw your robe about you, the 
breeze is fresher.** 


CHAPTER XXI 

* “Yea, I should not be despised.” 

Wentworth not able to endure the torture of 
separation longer, unbidden had followed Celeste 
to the sea shore. 

The effort to appear properly before her, which 
resulted in such grotesqueness, was an earnest 
one of days, all the while picturing in his mind 
their meeting. 

He had fancied her starving for him, as he 
was for her. The dismal forebodings roused by 
their parting, were quelled by the excitement of 
eager anticipation after he had decided to go to 
her. 

His imagination had carried him alternately 
into realms of woe and ecstacy. He had believed 
her wan and white and ill from their separation. 
He had seen the vejy life blood come back to 
her face, and had trembled like an aspen leaf as 
he pictured his lips pressed to her mouth, her 

Passion— 10 145 


146 


PASSION 


arms clinging to him. And this was how he had 
found her? This woman whom he had adored, 
this goddess whom he had worshiped, appeared 
before him suddenly, in her gaudy robes, a fash- 
ionable elegante, who simply bowed to him, with 
the blush of shame in her face, and continued 
her conversation with another man. At first he 
was dazed, the shock almost stunned him, he 
could not believe it possible, and then the dis- 
mal truth dawned upon him. 

He saw himself as she saw him. He realized 
the disparity between them, and understood that 
all which he believed eternal had been to her 
but an incident. 

In the midst of this blazing sun and blue ocean, 
the very world appeared to turn dark about him. 
Light seemed to vanish, he could not see distinct- 
ly, the people around him were floating shadows, 
the music faintly heard from the band in the dis- 
tance, seemed a million miles away. He longed 
to throw himself down in the sand at his feet 
and be buried. Cruel shame overtook him. He 
wished to cry aloud, and tell God Himself how 
this woman had used him and deluded him. He 
who was so proud that he had scorned even the 
kindness of the world. 

Anger that amounted to delirium took posses- 
sion of him, but her face with its rare sensuous 
beauty rose before him, and brought the hot 


PASSION 


tears to his eyes, and he was made weak and 
helpless in his great agony. 

He was not tutored in contention with emotion 
and acute suffering. 

He walked on scarcely knowing, till all the 
moving throng was left behind, and he found 
himself standing alone on the beach with the 
water rolling up to his feet in gentle ripples. 

A scarcely visible cloud began spreading a soft 
vapor over the skies as though the spirit of a 
world of doves were entering heaven. 

With modulated splash and gurgle, the waves 
laughed on. 

His eyes were bloodshot, an angry purplish 
cross marked his brow, and his throat felt stiff 
and dry. When he found his voice it was loud 
and cacophonous. 

Now is the time,^* he shouted, ** for stars to 
shine in hell, for oceans to dry up and become 
arid deserts, for churches to send forth curses, 
for the skies to become hideous, for rain drops 
to be the blood of angels tearing themselves to 
pieces, for trees to shoot out devils, and the 
whole earth to be a smouldering sphere of fire, 
blistering the feet of creatures doomed to walk 
upon it. Saints have become harlots, angels 
betrayers, I have been deceived. My love is 
not my love. Ah! If at the last day Christians 
should find Christ a lie! 


X48 


PASSION 


He ceased speaking abruptly. An expression 
of faith crossed his face, as moonlight flits over 
clouds. 

A momentary hope that she could explain 
died to join the funeral of those that lay lifeless 
within his breast. 

He never remembered how the rest of the 
afternoon was spent. He may have walked on 
and swooned, for when he recovered himself he 
was lying on the beach, a mile away,' with the 
water, grown more restless, washing up over his 
knees. 

He dragged himself to his feet, and looked 
about him. He felt weak and chilled, his teeth 
were chattering. 

Presently his eyes flashed, intelligence swept 
over his face. 

<<Ah! Yes,” he said, clinching his teeth 
hard, ‘‘I know, I know.” 

Then he sat down on the sand again, and 
wrapping his arms about one knee, gazed out on 
the far water. Part the time with a blank ex- 
pression, and again with eager, determined ques- 
tioning as though concocting a plan, and de- 
ciding what was best to do. 


CHAPTER XXII 

" Many waters cannot quench love." 

When night came he fearlessly approached the 
Hotel St. Bernard, where he had learned Celeste 
was stopping. 

As he neared, strains of a seductive mazurka 
the band was playing reached his ear. The pi- 
azza swarmed with people; but it all seemed 
unreal and phantom like. The lights from the 
hotels and cottages streamed out and made 
square crystal figures on the ground, rested on 
the trees, and lent a pale, fantastical color to the 
trembling leaves. He heard break from Celeste 
the laughter he had revelled in, and which, in 
times agone, had blended with the scales of his 
joyous music, and became a part of it. He would 
never play such music again. With pale, set 
face he scanned the people who crowded the 
porch. In one corner, the center of a merry 
group, he recognized Celeste. She was dressed 


PASSION 


150 

in some filmy black stuff, with a scarf of the 
same about her head. 

People from the beach were hurrying past him 
in crowds. Dark threatening clouds were gather- 
ing swiftly in the heavens, and the waves were 
already dashing against the shore with sounds 
like distant cannon. A gust of wind blew his 
hat from his head, but he did not attempt to re- 
^ cover it. 

Celeste caught sight of him on the steps of the 
piazza. Her laughter ceased, she started from 
her seat, tearing her dress that was pinned by 
some one’ s chair, and went hurriedly forward. 

By all means she must avoid this mortification 
of introducing him to her friends, especially 
Emile Caulfield whom she was expecting every 
moment. 

came to meet you,” she said, trying to 
smile, and extending her hand, ** knowing your 
objection to strangers.” 

‘<You are very considerate. Do you think 
you came to meet me, or to keep them from 
meeting me?” he asked sarcastically, ignoring 
her hand. ** However, it does not matter, only 
it would but serve you just were I to take you be- 
fore them and cry out before them, and to your 
new lover, to look upon me in my hideousness, 
my unexpressed deformity, and know that in 
your matchless beauty, gorgeous array and shin- 


PASSION 


I5X 

ing jewels, you had loved me and lain in my 
arms, and prayed — yes, prayed, for my kisses’/' 

His voice became louder as he spoke, soon 
they could not help hearing. Celeste was ter- 
rified. 

Hush!" she cried to him, for God's sake. 
Are you mad?" 

Possibly, "he answered, calmly, that which 
I feel may be madness; I know not." 

She drew him from the portico, down towards 
the ocean. A few flashes of lightning streaked 
the distant heavens. The sky was black and the 
intervening space like gloomy midnight. 

The laughing of the sea has turned to lamen- 
tation and querimonious roaring. 

They walked on regardless, till they stood on 
the shore with not another living soul in sight. 

The wind blew in tempestuous gusts, and 
tossed the light scarf high in the air, whence it 
fell and was caught by a wave. The sand cut 
into their faces like particles of fire. She bent her 
head and clung to him. ‘‘Take me back,” she 
implored him. “It is terrible here; we shall be 
blown into the sea." 

With one arm he held her with all his strength, 
and threw out the other as if to wrap the wild- 
ness of the ocean to his heart. 

“ What better end," he cried aloud, “ for you 
find me? Am I to stand off afar and watch you 


152 


PASSION 


as from another world? Am I to know that other 
men will hold you to their hearts, as I have held 
you to mine? Must I hear your love words beat- 
ing on my brain, spoken to them and not to me? 
Must I stand blistering and writhing in hell to 
watch you, serene and content, in heaven?” 

A great wave broke before them, and the 
seething water ran up and touched their feet; she 
drew back, but he tightened his grasp upon her. 
‘‘See how they come up!” he cried, with the 
wild laugh of a maniac bent on fiendish work. 
“See how they come up to us — ah! if they were 
hot it would be better. Only a few more mo- 
ments, and we have but to stand still to be swal- 
lowed up together!” 

The wind blew against them so strong that 
they nearly lost their footings and the sand cut 
into their faces anew. The lightning flashes had 
become almost incessant. 

He took his head in her hands and bent it 
backward and gazed upon her upturned face, 
white and terror-stricken as the vivid storm- 
flame played upon it. 

She could not speak or cry out. The wind 
choked her voice. He swayed her from side to 
side. Momentarily as she saw his face, it re- 
sembled that of a madman. 

“ Celeste, Celeste! ” he cried, above the storm 
and explosion of the waves, “ awake to me! — by 


PASSION 


153 

all the memories of the past, give your heart 
back into my keeping! Who can ever love you 
as I? Who can ever worship you so? All that 
I am not, you can make me. There shall be 
nothing that through you I will not fulfill ! ** 

She tried to wrench herself from him, but he 
held her fast. The wind and fright combined 
had deprived her of strength. 

He leaned forward and kissed her face over 
and over. He tore the delicate laces of her 
gown, and, baring her white throat, pressed his 
lips to that in maddening despair. He who had 
been so timid and gentle; he who had not even 
dared to take her hand except responsively, was 
now suddenly turned bold and fierce, forgetful 
of everything except his love and the anguish of 
parting. 

The thunder, which had been rumbling in the 
distance, burst about them with deafening crash. 
The waves were rising higher and higher. Ce- 
leste broke away from him, with a cry of horror, 
and desperately dragged herself up the beach. 
Following her, he stumbled and fell on his knees 
at her feet; raising his arms, he threw them about 
her, and, sobbing, hid his face against the damp 
folds of her gown. 

‘‘Oh! my love,’’ he cried, looking up at her, 
“do not leave me! It is the last time — my last 
hour! Do you not know that you are forsaking 


154 


PASSION 


me, and that it will cause my death? It is the 
last struggle — the separation of body and soul, 
yet I would writhe in that struggle to cling to 
you! Celeste! angel of mercy — have pity — listen 
to me!'' 

His voice was drowned in the roar of the riot- 
ous waves, and the resounding noise of the 
thunder. 

We shall be killed!" she impulsively said, 
but with the resignation of one too exhausted 
to mind. 

But she felt great pity for him, and laying her 
hand upon his head, leaned towards him. The 
wind loosened her long hair, and it wrapped it- 
self about his form. At the same moment the 
clouds burst, the drenching rain fell, and a great 
wave struck them, and threw them far upon the 
shore beyond the beach. For some time after 
the water had receded, neither of them could 
speak; when Celeste found her voice, she begged 
pitiously to be taken home, ‘‘another moment," 
she said, “and we shall be drowned." 

The storm increased in fury. Wentworth 
pulled himself to his feet, and dragging her by 
the arm, led her away. They walked with un- 
even gait, stumbling and clinging to each other, 
their wet clothes weighing on them and imped- 
ing their progress. Their path half lost in the 
darkness. They guided themselves by the alter- 
nating flashes of lightning. 


CHAPTER XXIII 

**Thou hast ravished my heart, my sister.” 

The piazza they had left so illuminated, and 
occupied by people, was now dark and deserted. 
Every light which had not been removed for 
safety, had been demolished by the resistless 
wind. 

Standing on the uppermost step, in her white 
dress, with the loose sleeves blown back, her 
small, white arm revealed, they saw Nanette 
with the lightning playing about her. 

Oh! how thankful I am that you have come! 
I have been half wild with fear — Mr. Caulfield 
went to look for you and has not returned; I never 
thought to see you alive, my darling, my dar- 
ling,^’ she cried, over and over, taking Celeste 
from Carl and leading her up the steps. 

'<Are you trying to kill her?’^ she asked, turn- 
ing upon him sharply. 

** I have not killed her,” he answered, mourn- 

X55 


PASSION 


15G 

fully, ‘ ‘ let her tell you what she has done to 
me!’^ Without a word more he turned and 
walked away from them. 

*‘The man is mad,” Nanette said, as she led 
Celeste dripping through the spacious halls to 
their bed-room. On the hearth a wood fire 
burned and the damp and cold of the night was 
dispelled. She put Celeste, who was exhausted 
and without resistance, into a chair, made her 
drink some brandy, and proceeded to remove 
her wet garments, and wring the water from her 
soaking hair. 

When she had put on her warm woolen wrap- 
per, and placed a pillow for her head, she knelt 
down and fell to rubbing her feet, all the while 
talking to her, and detailing how wretched she 
had been. 

<<Were you wild, dear, that you did not see 
those black clouds, even when you started? 
Did you not ftieet everyone hurrying back? Oh! 
where have you been? I think if you had not 
come when you did I should have gone crazy. 
Celeste! why are you what you are, and why do 
you do such reckless things? Every day you go 
out so far into the ocean I expect you to be 
washed to my feet, dead.” 

She drew her chair nearer the fire. The flames 
shedding their light on Celeste’s face showed 
how pale and troubled it was. She wearily laid 


PASSION 


157 


her head against Nanette, her colorless lips 
quivering with nervousness. Every now and 
then as the sound of the waves broke upon the 
shore she shuddered, and convulsively hid her 
face between her hands. 

*‘My own little one, she murmured, in her 
soft, dreamy voice, ‘‘always so true; so often 
tried, yet ever comforting, how could I live a 
day without you? Forgive me, forgive me the 
anxiety and misery I have caused you. But do 
not even think of me, Nanette,” drawing the 
girl nearer to her. “ Think of him, that -poor 
man — he is so desperate, so forlorn, so miser- 
able and all alone! There is no being to comfort 
him, no soul to speak to him, he is alone — out 
there in the storm, you do not know how terrible 
it is, Nanette, can we not go to him?’^ springing 
to her feet. 

A sudden burst of thunder made her drop 
down in the chair, and hide her face in the 
cushions. 

“ It would be useless, useless. We should 
never find him.’* 

“God have mercy on him! Oh! that I had 
died years ago — years ago, Nanette.’* She 
clung to the girl terrified — “suppose — sup- 
pose ’* 

“Hush!” Nanette said, holding her close. 
“ Have you not alv.^ays spoken of his reverence 


158 


PASSION 


for God — his submission? Pie would not do this 
thing; strength will come to him. You must 
not suffer so, I cannot bear it. But oh! Celeste, 
had you listened in the beginning when I begged 
you to spare him.” 

** I could not, Nanette, I could not, you can- 
not understand.” 

The two women sat before the fire till the dry 
logs burned in two and parted and blackened. 

All night the waves dashed against the shore, 
and in the morning it was found that the sea had 
swept over the pavilion, and its fragments were 
washed in every direction, and human beings 
with white faces upturned to the sun or buried 
in the sand, were discovered along the beach. 


CHAPTER XXIV 

"I will arise now and go about the city in the street." 

A quiet still night in the city; hot and oppres- 
sive to suffocation. On the outskirts of the town, 
in the center of a small plot of ground, a shor 
thick set man, with an old cap in his hand, is 
standing. His head is raised to heaven, the 
moon shining full in his face, shows it white and 
distorted with passionate yearning and despair. 

*<My God,” he is saying, half audibly, went 
my own way, I found liberty, new life, I lived in 
a heaven where thou didst not reign, and thou 
hast left me, without my soul’s desire. Thou 
hast shown me the evil of my way, and laid bare 
my sin before me. I have had the pall of dark- 
ness, and even of death about me; I have reached 
heaven and have passed through hell, and stand 
on the other side with blistered feet, and the 
flames still fanning my back. I have arisen but 

round about me is a void. Vainly may I study 
159 


i6o 


PASSION 


and watch, all is empty space. That angel face 
and voice removed to be seen but in sufferance. 
But shall she, great God, go free?’^ His tone of 
gentleness changed to blasphemous outcrying. 
“Shall she live in her scented atmosphere to 
make humanity swoon, and lie at her feet a 
poisoned, helpless mass? Do thou in thy mercy 
cut short her fiendish work; be her face deprived 
of its fair proportions; let the light of her eyes be 
two flames burning beneath her brain; let the 
odor of her breath be as carrion to her senses; let 
the blood of her heart be liquid fire; as she has 
destroyed with human power do thou annihilate 
with God-like despotism. 

The inflection of his voice was higher and 
higher; suddenly he broke off and looked about 
him with a startled, hunted expression. 

“What am I saying, what am I saying?” he 
whispered. 

“Celeste, Celeste, fair and tender, I would not 
harm you. Ah! those cool, slender fingers, 
those golden eyes and burning lips; what am I 
that you should have sought me? Yet of all the 
world you alone did. And you said the words 
that summoned me to life, and you came to me 
day after day, bearing the censure of your people 
for my sake. They do say little Nanette is 
dying, caught cold waiting for you the night of 
the storm, when 1 meant to have drowned you. 


PASSION 


i6i 

taken you in my arms and walked through the 
waters with you into eternity. They will bury 
her too in violets. It is well. But you, God of 
love comfort you, comfort you, though for every 
restful moment, I shall have hours of torment. 
How could you help but weary of me, dear 
child, when the music was done? Was it 
your fault that the happiness which fell from your 
hands cost more than my love could pay? And 
yet — and yet — to have found you faithless, and 
through your faithlessness to be left alone!” 

He stretched out his arms at random. 

‘‘How can I live and know, day by day, every 
hour of my life that I shall no more behold 
you!” 

He raised his eyes to heaven. 

“If I could but go," he whispered. 

The moon hid herself behind the clouds, the 
honey-suckle on the cottage porches shed its re- 
dolence on the air, the distant tinkling of the car 
bells faintly broke upon the stillness. The man 
bowed his head, turned slowly away and sought 
his couch of skins. 

“ He is mad,” an old crone said to her daugh- 
ter, as he passed them on the street, walking 
rapidly with his arms crossed on his breast his 
chin resting on them. “ He draped all 
his furniture in mourning and hauled it 
to the country himself, and set a fire to 


PASSION 


i6a 

it. There was a picture of a beautiful lady in a 
gold frame, and they say he stamped on it, and 
then fell down on the ground and prayed over it. 
I went out this morning with my bags, but 
there was nothing there but ashes. ** 





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CHICAGO. 





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